Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent
by Lutris A
Summary: Harry Potter has defeated the Dark Lord for the first time. But his parents are dead, and Sirius Black is imprisoned, Lupin is a werewolf, and Pettigrew is dead. AU 4th year and onwards. A Crouch Sr. adopts Harry story. Eventual SemiDark!Harry.
1. The Fall of a Dark Lord

**Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent**

**By: Lutris Argutiae**

**Chapter One: The Fall of a Dark Lord**

_Pensieve Journal of Bartemius Crouch_

_31 October, 1991_

The entire building was reduced to ruins when I arrived at the scene. Green flames flickered in the rubble. In the darkness, I could make out a small light in the distance, coming closer and closer. A rumbling sound came from the general direction of the light. I could vaguely see a humanoid shadow astride it. As it drew closer towards the house, I noticed that there was another sound in the immediate area. I realized what it was. The cry of an infant. I only made it into the bushes to hide myself in the nick of time when the vehicle crash-landed on the street.

Peeking out of the bushes, I could now identify what the rumbling thing was: a motorbike. It was black; a Harley-Davidson, whatever that was, if the logo was any indication. The man on the bike turned the key, and the engine stopped. The man pulled off his black helmet, shrank it, and stowed it in the compartment under the seat of the vehicle. The man shook his long black hair, and turned towards the house.

He wasn't a Ministry officer; I could tell from the way he chose to arrive. Then why was he here? If he wasn't part of the special team I had set up to come to Godric's Hollow, he certainly wasn't allowed to be here. Being a Senior Ministry Official, I had been authorized to come as soon as word came in that the Potters had been attacked, and assembled a team to investigate the incident. He, on the other hand… was here on a very illegal visit.

Then the accidental magic erupted. I could feel the anxiety rolling off of this man, nearly thirty feet away from him. I could only watch as he dashed towards the ruined building and cast spells at the rubble. Of the few I could hear, I could discern a few life-search spells, and several locating charms amongst other incantations. After several minutes, the man stopped his casting, and bent down. When he stood up, he now carried a bundle; after a few seconds, I realized that this was the baby… Harry Potter. How he survived is beyond me, but I see that his head is a mess of blood. He appeared to be placated only by the presence of the man. I cast an Eavesdropping Charm on the area they were at. I could now make out what was being said.

"Come on now Harry…time to get you out of here. I don't know how long I have until the Ministry people come, and I have to take you to somewhere safe… somewhere nobody can find you. Padfoot will take you to his house, okay little Harrykins?"

Harry answered with a gurgle, apparently not aware of the fact that his parents were dead. Strange that he wasn't crying… I hear that head injuries are some of the most painful. Back at the house, I could see the man conjure a black teddy bear behind his back, presenting it to the boy.

"Righto then. Snuffles and I'll have you out of harm's way in no time, right Harry?"

The stuffed animal, Snuffles, I assumed, found itself in a newly conjured basket along with the baby. The man placed the basket onto the motorbike, not bouncing it around too much. He popped open the under-seat compartment, and pulled out the helmet. He restored it to its original size, and was about to pull it over his head when a booming voice rang out from the far side of the rubble.

"Lily? James? 'Arry where are ye? 'Ellooo! 'Arry? Anybody there?"

I could tell exactly who and what the owner of the voice was, and who's orders he came on. The owner of the voice was Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The half-giant probably… no, definitely came by word of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of said school. With a frown, I wonder why the groundskeeper and pawn of the so-called leader of the light was doing at the scene of Death Eater activity looking for a single victim of the raid.

The half-giant stops; probably from the sight of the man with the motorbike

"Oi! Sirius Black! What're ye doin' 'ere ye young rascal!" Hagrid called out quite loudly.

The man, Sirius Black, a two-year Auror if I remember correctly, responds with a voice as loud as the groundskeeper.

"I'm taking Harry to somewhere safe, Hagrid. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

Hagrid visibly frowns, "Sorry Sirius, but I've got ta take 'im to Dumbledore. Dumbledore's orders."

Black, as stunned at this new revelation as me, although probably from different reasons, looked shaken. With a quiver in his voice, he said, "No, Hagrid, you can't take him; I've got to take him somewhere safe, away from Voldemort. Safe… that's what Dumbledore wants for Harry to be, isn't it?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Sirius, he'll be safe with Dumbledore. You can' get much safer than tha', righ'? I'm takin' 'im to where Dumbledore told me to take 'im, and tha's tha'."

Black, seeing that he was getting nowhere in convincing the half-giant, nodded his head. He walked back to the motorbike, and pulled out a piece of parchment and the keys to the bike. With his wand, he enlarged the motorbike by at least half its size, and cast a Durability Charm on it, renewing the Sticking Charm on the basket with another flick.

""Here you go Hagrid. It'll be a lot faster wherever you're going with this. Take care of both my babies, all right? I'll come back for the Harley later."

With that, Black walked away from the bike, and sat down on a piece of debris, cradling his head in his hands. I could hear several strangled sobs before he stood up, and whispered to himself, "Now all I've got to do is hunt down Wormtail and kill him. Ohh, I'll enjoy killing him, that traitor…" The Auror Black, after scratching his head, waved to the half-giant, and apparated away.

After watching Black depart, Hagrid lumbered over to the motorbike, and after a few glances to ensure nobody was watching, pulled a small, pink umbrella out of his coat. A burst of light later, the helmet grew to his own size, and he picked it up after stowing the umbrella within his coat once again.

It was here that I decided to make my move.

"Hagrid." I called out.

With a jump, the man turned around to greet me, dropping the helmet in the process.

"'Er… 'ello Mr.Crouch. 'M afraid I'm jus' on business of tha Headmaster tonigh'."

"Oh really, Hagrid? Then why does the Headmaster Dumbledore have business with the location of a Death Eater attack oh, say about a mere quarter of an hour after it happened, hmm?" I inquire.

At this, the groundskeeper looks outraged. "It wasn' no Death Eater attack; I' was You-Know-Who hisself Barty."

I did a double take from hearing this news. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself? What the hell?

"Sorry if I heard you wrong Hagrid, but did you just say that the Dark Lord _himself_ attacked the Potters tonight?"

"Oh. I shouldn' have said tha'…I shoudn' have said tha'…. Er, um, well ye see sir, I uh…" I cut him off.

"That can be verified later anyway, Hagrid. For now, I just want to know what does the Headmaster want to accomplish taking a baby illegally from its, for lack of better term, home, when it should be made a ward of the Ministry, at least until the Will is read?"

Hagrid looks to be of two voices now. To take the baby and run, following his employer's orders, or to hand over the boy and comply with my reason. As an answer, he picks on the helmet, and shoves the key into the motorbike's ignition.

"Hagrid," I start.

Hagrid ignores me, until he hears what I say next.

"Your record is against you Hagrid. Remember thirty eight years ago?"

He freezes, and gives me a look, terror in his eyes even through the visor of the helmet. He gets off of the vehicle after a few seconds of me staring him down, and picks the baby Potter up from the basket, and passes him to me, along with Snuffles. Hagrid signals me with a grunt, climbs on the motorbike, and flies off into the night sky. A few seconds later, a number of cracks assure me of the arrival of my investigative task force, and I debrief the team.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Right. As you know, some Death Eaters attacked the Potters tonight. They're supposed to be under Fidelius, so I don't know why we can see the house, Sowerby, check on that. I've received information citing Dumbledore that this was the Dark Lord's work. And I mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. Rex, I want you and two others to check for magical signatures in the area, they should still be fresh. Mencks, I want you to try and find out when exactly this happened. Frederickson, use the blueprints we have to get a physical of the house. Bode, as usual, take care of any Unspeakable items in the house; we know Potter was one. The rest of you, check for survivors. Go!"

The team sprinted towards the house. I watch them getting to their work, before regarding the boy, Harry. I use my wand to vanish the blood from his face and cast a cleaning charm on him. He has the beginnings of the Potter hair; black and messy. He appears to have the green eyes his mother has. Had, I remind myself. But then, I noticed the jagged cut on his forehead…

Bode shook me out of my stupor.

"Sir, I think you should see this."

"What is it?"

"Standard Unspeakable House Watcher. If you didn't know, it records what happens in every room of an Unspeakable's home, in case something goes wrong."

Annoyed, I raised my voice. "Yes, yes, I know what it is."

"Requesting permission to request HQ for master password to view house-memories, sir."

""Permission granted. Confirm the identity of the attackers, if possible, Bode."

"Got it sir."

Bode walked away, pulling out a Portable Fireplace of his pocket as he did so. A tap of a finger on my shoulder alerted me to another man.

"Sir, there appears to be a monumental backwash of magical energy surrounding the house right now; we can't tell who was in there. Only thing we could detect in that sort of energy was the Killing Curse. I say we should get an Aura Searcher here soon, before it deteriorates, sir."

"Get on it immediately. Tell Rex to try checking for James Potter or Lily Potter's wand signature. They had to put up some sort of struggle anyhow."

"Yes, sir. Also, Mencks told me that the Fidelius isn't working anymore because the Secret-Keeper himself destroyed the anchor for it. Apparently, it was hidden underneath the postbox, in the dirt. We might have a betrayal on our hands, Chief."

"I'll inform Dumbledore then. Good work, Elwood. See if you can help for the survivors; I've got Harry here; make his parents the search priorities, if they haven't already done so."

"Yes, sir. Right on it."

Frederickson approached me next. "Sir, magical deterioration suggests time period of crime at around one and two hours ago."

"Good work Frederickson. At ease. Start compiling information and present me the report in one hour." I reply.

"Yes sir." Frederickson salutes me, and starts taking reports from the others.

I watched as Elwood strode to the group of five standing a few feet from the house. If I remember correctly, the one taking readings is Silver, who used to head the Missing in Plain Sight program in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement a few years back. I follow the former to the group, and ask for a progress report.

"Well sir, we've got us three bodies in there, but we don't know if they're still alive or not. At least one of 'em 's dead, from what we've heard from Elwood's report here. Looks like one of the perpetrators is in there from what we can tell, 'cause there were only two adults and the boy living there last we checked."

"Get an ID on the unknown man, Silver. If it's true that the Dark Lord himself attacked, that means that he came here alone, unless we count the traitor Secret-Keeper. There's half a chance that the extra is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself! Get to it! The day's suddenly getting better!"

The man replied, apparently as enthusiastic as I made it sound like. "Yes Sir! Getting right to it!"

I turned, and then regarded the boy again. I touched the bleeding cut on his forehead, and he squealed in pain.

"Sorry, lad, but I've a feeling this is going to get you back in the future. I'll get you to the medics now. There's a good boy. You! Yes, you Blackwell! Get a spare Floo channel ready in two minutes!"

"Right on it sir!"

I return my attention to Master Potter. I slowly start to piece together the clues I possessed. One, the Potters must have been particularly crucial to the war; along with the Longbottoms, who were also under Fidelius. Two, Harry Potter was important enough that Dumbledore sends an emissary to get him as soon as he receives confirmation that the Potters have been attacked. But then why is he so sure that there is a boy alive to retrieve? Then pieces click together. The extra body, the Killing Curse, the magical backlash, the Potter heir's survival, and the interference of Dumbledore.

Somehow, Dumbledore knew that the Potter boy would be important to the end of the war, presumably the Longbottom boy as well. If the unidentified body was indeed the Dark Lord's, he would have been defeated by a mere baby, _heralding the end of the Years of Terror._

Blackwell alerts me to the connection of the Floo portal to the Aurors' Houses of Healing. I send him to the Head Healer along with young Harry, to check for any conditions. Not to mention little Snuffles, who the boy insists on taking along, even asleep.

I walk over to Bode to check on his progress. "Bode, have you got the thing to work yet?"

"Yes sir. Skimming through memories of the past month at the moment, sir."

I reprimand him in a chilling tone. "Bode, we are here to investigate the attack on the Potters, which occurred only an hour or two ago. Why are you looking at past memories?"

Bode splutters. "Well sir, I uh, was checking for any prior engagement that might have affected the magical energy and backwash."

"Need I remind you that we are only searching for the events of the past twenty-four hours, Bode?"

"No sir, I'm looking at four hours ago right now sir!"

I take a look at the image flickering above the device, which is shaped like a small dome. I see nothing out of the ordinary; Lily Potter cuddling the baby on her lap in the living room, and James Potter writing his progress report on the day's events. Nothing was worth noting until about an hour ago, just before midnight. James Potter's voice could be heard yelling: "Lily! He's here! Take Harry and go!". Then the doorway was blasted open by a spell, and a man stepped in. A man that forced many an accomplished wizard to cower in their boots. Bode and myself shivered.

It was the Dark Lord.

What happened next was standard in killings where the Dark Lord participated in. Taunt, Duel, Kill; in that order. James Potter's corpse was cast aside, and the Dark Lord ascended the stairs to the baby's room.

Lily Potter sacrificed herself, and somehow, little Harry survived the Killing curse, along with the subsequent explosion.

"Oh lord. Holy Merlin father of magic… You-Know-Who's dead… You-Know-Who is dead. You-Know-Who is dead! Everyone! The war's over! You-Know-Who's DEAD!" Bode roared out, alerting the whole team. There was silence, and then a cheer.

The war against the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was indeed, over.

The war for Harry Potter, as I would discover over the next few days, had only just begun.


	2. Black Trials of Mercy

**Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent**

**By: Lutris Argutiae**

**Chapter Two: Black Trials of Mercy**

_Pensieve Journal of Bartemius Crouch_

_1 November, 1981_

Apparently, luck just isn't on my side this morning. I have just gotten up from my chair in the office. As far as I can tell, I fell asleep at my desk after a long night of drinking with the rest of the investigative team sent to Godric's Hollow. Even thinking hurts, I discover, as I try to remember the reason for the massive intake of alcohol, as I usually never drink.

Oh yes. The Dark Lord was defeated. Events come crashing down upon my hapless mind, and I recall the reason for his downfall. One boy. One boy, merely a single year old, had defeated the most devious and powerful Dark Wizards in modern times. One. Year. Old.

I check the time on my watch, on my pendant. Nine o'clock, it reads. It looks as if I have the time to visit young Master Potter before I head on home to the festivities that are sure to follow. Grabbing a vial of Hangover Cure from the department medical cabinet, I straighten out my robes and put on my cloak, adjusting my bowler hat to the right angle. I take a swig of the potion, strawberry flavor, I notice, and cast a Cleaning Charm upon my person. I walk over to the fireplace, and immediately the fire flares up in the brick structure.

A pinch of Floo Powder and a rushed phrase later, I arrive at the Houses of Healing of the Auror Corps.

Last night, I had sent Harry Potter to the Houses of Healing to be checked on and thoroughly diagnosed, before spending the night there. A child of his age surely would not have survived the magical explosion and the consequent collapse of the house with out any ill effect. Therefore, I had resolved to see his conditions, should any arise, till the end.

I walked over to the reception desk. It was a plain wall with a glass screen across it, layered with protective charms. I address the crevice in the glass, taking note of the name card in the slot.

"Healer Anderson. This is Bartemius Crouch, requesting admission to Mr. Harry Potter's room."

A few moments passed, and I felt the tell tale tingle of magic run across my body.

"Identity confirmed: Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Will you submit your wand to the Reception Office for security?"

"Yes." I respond, pulling out my wand and handing it to a transparent arm that had sprouted out of the glass window. The arm pulled back, and was sucked into the glass through to the receptionist's office. I could see it grow out of the other side, still holding my wand. A man, presumably Healer Anderson, took it, and examined it.

After another minute or so, he relinquishes the wand back to the glass hand, and turns to me through the screen. " Your wand, sir. Ash, thirteen and a half inches, with a powdered dragon claw core. Been in use for forty two years?"

I answer with an affirmative nod. He gestures towards the glass, where about a dozen other hands where growing out of, each holding their own wands.

"Your wand will be kept here until your departure sir, as per procedure. Mr. Potter is in room 201E. You have clearance, sir."

I proceed on through the hallway, and come to the stairs. I climb up the fourteen steps, and step onto the second floor, with a plaque reading 'Curse Injuries' adorning the wall. I look to the right side of the hallway, and I find Hall 201. I walk in, the magical sensors acknowledging that I don't possess any potentially lethal items. Glancing down the small common area, I look to the farthest room to the left, by the window. I walk through the doorway, and see that it is a fairly large room, considering its occupant.

I look to the crib placed at the side of the room, next to the window. I walk over to it, and see Harry Potter lying there, apparently asleep. I watch for a few seconds, before noticing that Snuffles, the black teddy bear, is starting to lose its opaqueness, and I deduce that it was not made to be a permanent conjuration. I pull an all-around wand from a tray in a cupboard on the wall, and I reapply the conjuration charms on it, not wanting to see the child saddened by the loss of his, for lack of a better term, companion.

I pause. That was unnaturally compassionate of me. I shrug the thought off, attributing it towards the mental creed to see to the well-being of this child. Then I remember a troubling thought. Surely Sirius Black, as an Auror, and as a friend of the late Potters, had come at least to visit Harry? As his superior officer, I would have to offer my condolences to him.

I give a small goodbye wave to the baby, and stalk back through the halls. Eventually, I came to the reception desk again. Quickly, I ask Healer Anderson, "Healer, I wish to see the visitor records for Harry Potter. As Head of Magical Law Enforcement, I need to know who visited him, Dark Wizards may be out for his blood."

Healer Anderson looks up at me from his desk with a glance. He shakes his head " Sorry sir, we are not cleared to disclose the visitor rosters. I can, however, check for names."

"Check for a man named Sirius Black, his occupation should be listed as an Auror for two years."

The man drew a piece of parchment from a shelf, and ran his eyes over it, muttering "Sirius Black… Sirius Black…". He looks up, then reads again, presumably double-checking for the name. He looks at me once more, and shakes his head in the negative. I thank him, and tell him that I am leaving. A hand slid across the glass to my area, and passes through again, opening its hand and offering the wand to me by the handle. I grasp it, then slip it into its holster at my hip, nod in affirmation to the Healer, and turn around to leave. It was here that I had another question in my mind. Why had Sirius Black not visited Harry Potter? From all sources, it was suggested that he was James Potter's best friend, and I saw that many times in basic combat training before the latter became an Unspeakable.

By basic deduction, it was not hard to perceive that Sirius Black was made Secret-Keeper for the Potters when the Fidelius was cast. But that conflicted with the fact that Black did not perceive himself as a traitor when I had seen him the night before. He was a Gryffindor, and the fact that he betrayed a close friend should have had him wallowing in blame and disgust for himself. That didn't add up. Something was amiss here, and I had to find out quickly, ere something happen to the Potter heir.

That left me with one task to accomplish. Find Sirius Black, and find the truth of events the night of All Hallows Eve. If he wasn't the traitor, then who was?

I head back to the Lobby of Level Two, and proceed to the Administrative Offices. I walk down the corridor, past the countless doors to the sides. I reach my own door and with a muttered passcode and an affirmation of my magical signature, I enter. Once at my desk, I reach down to one of the drawers on the right side of it. Clearly, I state "Employee rosters, Auror. Two-years. Sirius Black." . The drawer glows a faint golden colour, and I slide it open. All of the files on Black appear in it, and I pull out the Residency and Emergency Contact file.

Opening it, I glance down to the home address, and find no specific residence listed. I reread it, and see that he had lived in the Potter residency with James Potter and his family from when he was sixteen years old, until the deaths of the latter's parents, Alfred and Eve Potter. Incidentally, they had died of old age, with no malevolent feelings involved. Since then for the past two years, Black had lived in hotels, motels, friend's homes, the streets, the Auror dorms, and for a while, a brothel.

Sighing, I decide to go to his family residence, where it was sure that his location would be known. Leafing through the papers, I find his family residence marked as located in London, where at last checked, his mother and two house-elves resided.

I file away all of the papers, and place the thing in the drawer once again. It shuts with an audible click as I exit the room and make my way to the Apparition Point in the Lobby. After arriving, I concentrate on the address, and Apparate to the house, arriving within a few seconds with a slight crack. Glancing about, I could see it was a muggle neighborhood, which was strange, considering the history of the Blacks. Shaking the thoughts away, I found the address I was looking for.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place

I walk up the front steps, and gaze upon the door. In the daylight, it is apparent that the family itself supports the Dark Side. My evidence stood before me, in the form of a serpentine door knocker. Retracting my initial disgust at having to consort with supporters of the Dark Lord, I grasp the handle, and knock sharply. Twice.

The door, after several long minutes, opens a crack, the long nose and crooked ears of a house-elf visible in the small space.

"Who is Kreacher having to ask, is visiting the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black this fine day, sir?" The house-elf asks in a snobbish tone.

"I would like to speak with Mrs. Black, if it at all possible, Kreacher. May I see her?"

Kreacher nodded, apparently pleased that he would be serving a guest. I never did see the creatures as that intelligent anyway. "Kreacher welcomes Mr…."

"Crouch. Bartemius Crouch."

"…Mr. Crouch, to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, sir. Please wait in the sitting room as Kreacher is getting his Mistress."

I nod a polite nod, as it's never good to be impolite, even against servants, when in a foreign home. I walk in the house, and immediately notice the house-elf heads propped up on the wall, providing a dark decorum to the house. Disturbed at the sickness of the prospect, I hurry to the sitting room, hanging my bowler hat and my cloak on the coat-hanger. I sit down on one of the green couches, and wait, taking note of the tea and biscuits suddenly appearing on the table.

A few minutes later, a knock sounds on the door to the room, and a woman walks in. She was wearing black robes, with the family crest of the Black family embroidered onto it. Looking remarkably like an extremely aged and wrinkled Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, she walked over the span of the room, and plopped down on the other couch across the table.

"I am the Lady Black. What is the crux of the matter of your visit today, Mr. Crouch?"

"I am currently heading a personal investigation regarding your son, Lady Black."

"On Regulus? Oh, my poor, poor, son. Killed by Death Eaters… why? What do you need? Can I help to do anything to help my darling boy…?"

"Sadly, the investigation concerns your elder son, Sirius, if I am not mistaken."

At this, she looks to be extremely outraged, flashes of fury and anger furrowing her brows, "That Blood-Traitor! That filthy muggle-lover? HIM! THE FILTH! WHAT ABOUT HIM!"

I had hardly expected this reaction out of the woman. Mentally sighing once again, I try to calmly respond. "Please, Lady Black, hear me out, and I shall continue my investigation elsewhere. I am looking for your son, Sirius Black, and it is a matter of great importance. May I ask where I can find him?"

The woman closed her mouth, stopping her incessant shouting. She responded, " No, I don't know where that filth, no-good son of mine is. And frankly, I'm glad. Now, GET OUT OF MY HOME!"

At this, Kreacher grasps me from behind, and I materialize outside the house, my hat and cloak landing beside me. In as dignified a manner I can, I stand up, and scoop up the apparel, before putting the cloak over my body again, and pushing the hat onto my head.

Considering that that particular method of tracing Sirius Black had been exhausted in failure, I had to find another way of getting to him. Closing my eyes, I ponder for a moment. I could call him in through his Department employee link, but that would be overstepping the line for a personal investigation. I think again. Where would Black go? But then I recalled a scene from last night.

"…_Wormtail…kill…that traitor…"_

I backtracked a bit, collecting the thoughts I had. Black had not considered himself a traitor, but rather, a man named Wormtail. If he had hated him enough as to want to kill him, what could have pushed him to that length? The obvious betrayal…ah. This 'Wormtail' was the Secret-Keeper, at least in Black's perception. But if it was just his perception… if he killed him, that would be murder. Considering the reputation I had placed upon the Department with the authorization of the Unforgivables, the Aurors would suffer massive loss of trust…

I had to find him, and stop him, now that I knew what he planned. But his mother hated him with a passion, and had provided no leads. The facts in the file were of past reference, and fellow residents from years past would not remember him, if he were only there for a few days.

I had no where to turn to, and thus no way to track Black down.

But fate, it seems, must interfere in all of our lives at some point.

The Auror Alert had just gone off, the buzzing of the badge in my robes felt through the fabric. I immediately noted the pattern of vibration, and taking in the need for extreme caution, apparated to the coordinates given me by the badge, wand out at the ready.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I arrived at a muggle street. There was chaos and confusion all over the place, the muggles not understanding the reason for the sudden appearance of the many men in robes. I look around, and found the source of the commotion., Casting a Sonorous Charm on my voicebox, I shout, "Ladies and gentlemen, please clear out of the way, this is law enforcement. Please, clear out. I repeat, please clear out."

Heeding my words, and with murmurs rippling through the throngs of people, the crowd parts, allowing the Aurors and myself leading them, through. I see the devastation in the area. Several mangled bodies on the ground, and a madman laughing his head off. I recognize his face.

Black.

The Aurors surround him, and carry him off to a Ministry holding cell.

I stick around, watching the Obliviations take place, and Junior Head of Magical Catastrophies, Fudge strutting his incompetent ass about, being first on the scene.

I curse at losing the chance to converse with Black. I should have known that he would murder 'Wormtail', or Peter Pettigrew, as I now knew. I should have interfered. But, seeing as regret never did anybody any good, I resolve to visit him in his cell tonight, before the trial.

According to eye-witness accounts, he killed the people after Pettigrew had accused him of betraying 'Lily and James'. The Potters. So, by all points and purposes, he was the Secret-Keeper. Since this was contradictory to his own beliefs, I needed to make sure of his guilt before I could preside over his trial.

That night, I visited him using my position as Head to get to his cell.

That night, destiny and fate played in my fixed future.

That night, changed my life, forever.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_1 November, 1981_

_Late Evening_

The elevator needs maintenance, I notice, as it descends from the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. I get off two floors down in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. With a small chime and a voice informing me of the level, the doors open, and I walk out.

The lights are dimmed, as is customary during the night hours in the Auror Offices. I head towards the holding cells, where Black currently is held. I had decided to come here on leeway of a personal investigation, sprouting from the fact that he did not visit Harry Potter, his best friend's son, in the hospital after his miraculous survival of the Killing Curse. It then had evolved into a search for the man to stop him from attempting to kill a man named Wormtail, whom I later discovered to be another one the Potters' close friends, Peter Pettigrew. The latter was murdered, along with twelve muggles, on a muggle street. Black had been manically laughing at the time the Auror Corps had apparated in.

Then there was the matter that Black did not believe that he was the traitor, rather that Pettigrew was. This gave way to the question of who the Secret-Keeper for the Potters actually was. This individual would then be the traitor to the Dark Lord, having betraying the Potters to him.

I approached the holding cells situated on the far side of the Offices. With the standard identity confirmation and magical signature checks, I found myself in the warden's office. I heard him greet me as soon as I opened the door, and he saw my face.

"Mr. Crouch! Wot bizness d'ja have 'ere this evenin', eh?"

The warden says to me, in a slightly slurred manner. He has been drinking, I decide, as I respond to him. "Sorry, warden. I am here to visit the mass-murder suspect Sirius Black, in his cell. Give me the keys warden."

The warden looks at me with a questioning glance. " Wot? Sirius Black, ya say? You'd be needin' a 'roper warrant eh?"

"Warden," I command in a unnerving tone, surprising both myself and the warden, " I order you, as your commanding officer, and as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, that you relinquish the keys to the cell of Sirius Black to me."

The warden just looks confused again, as I sigh in exasperation. "Warden, give me the keys, or I shall have you put on indefinite leave, demoted, and take twenty marks off from your record for drinking alcoholic beverages on duty. I shall also place you on active duty upon your return. Is that acceptable, warden?"

Looking aghast at the prospect of getting demoted, as his rank was one that took a fair amount of time to get to, namely six years, or quite possibly at running around in life-threatening situations, he shakes hid head. He slowly gets up, his belly hanging over the rim of his trousers, and the chair groans from the sudden release of pressure. He waddles over to the cabinet, where the keys are kept, and fishes out a ring. Facing me again, he hands me the ring, and with a quaking voice, pleads for his job.

I ignore him, subtly casting a Stunning Charm on him for his troubles. I made a mental note to myself to modify surveillance equipment on the offices to alert myself of any slackers, drinkers, and party-goers while on duty. Oh, and to carry out my previous threats to the warden, with the exception of active duty. The training regiment needed new trainees anyway, as I had trouble finding recruits to fill the slots.

I look at the ring handed to me by the warden, and push it into the slot in the doorknob. With a click, the door opens, and the ring falls back into my hand. I walk down the hallway of the maximum security wing, and at the end of the hallway, find the cell marked: Sirius Orion Black, Suspected Mass-Murder of Muggles, Suspected Murder of a Wizard, Suspected Abuse of Unforgivable Curse Usage, Suspected Activities as a Death Eater, Prisoner ID Python3598-D74.

I read over the plaque, and then look inside of the cell. There is a light in the corner of the room, the only illumination in the whole wing aside from my wand. I see Black huddled away from the light, and apparently sleeping in the other corner. I call out to him.

"Sirius Orion Black?"

Startled out of his presumable shallow sleep, he hastily searches for his wand, before pausing, raising his fist, and pointing his forefinger at me in the shape of a muggle firearm. "What do you want!"

I gaze back at him in amusement. Muggle firearm indeed, apparently the rumours of him being an entertaining man at Hogwarts were true, if that was his response to being disarmed in hostile territory. I say, " At ease, Black, this is your superior officer speaking. I am Bartemius Crouch, and I wish to ask you some questions of a personal matter."

Black glares daggers at me, as if saying _why would I bow to you, you bastard?_. I sigh, and unlock the cell door with the ring, and go in, closing the door upon entry. I sit down, and explain my reasoning, hoping he understands my situation. "Auror Black, as you no doubt know, I am Senior Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I therefore am pressed to preside over your trial, and in order to do that fairly, I require myself to take in your side of the whole incident. Yesterday, as soon as the Potters were attacked, I witnessed you arriving on a flying black motorbike, and relinquish control of Harry Potter to Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts School."

He cut me off here, "What? You were there? Is Harry safe?"

Mentally, I applaud him for his Gryffindor brashness and disrespect for authority. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, you relinquished control of Harry Potter to Hagrid. Immediately after, I confronted him, and Harry is now under the care of the Healers in the Houses of Healing. I overheard your mutterings before your departure, and couldn't help but be intrigued in your choice of words. Wormtail, kill, traitor, those words stuck in my mind. The following morning, this morning, I visited Mr. Potter in his room at the Houses of Healing, and to my astonishment you had not visited him during the night or hours of the morning. Of course, curious, I decided to hunt you down."

"And so that's why you're here isn't it? You found me at the muggle street and are going to convict me of murder tomorrow, is that it?"

"No, as a matter of fact, your attempted use of the Killing Curse on Mr. Pettigrew, or rather, Wormtail, as you know him, has severely damaged the reputation of the Auror Department, along with your murder of the twelve muggles. That is, if you are truly guilty. That is what I am here to find out, Mr. Black. From logic, you should have been the Secret-Keeper for the Potters. But you had stated otherwise on All Hallows Eve, citing him as a traitor. Therefore, Mr. Pettigrew is the betrayer, and subsequently framed you for treason to the Dark Lord and mass-murder, at least, following your point of view. What say you to that, Mr. Black?"

As I continued to look upon him, his hate-filled glares had passed into a questioning look, then to relief, and finally astonishment at my apparently accurate analysis of events. He gapes for a few moments, rather like a goldfish, I notice, then speaks. "Mr. Crouch, what you have said is true. I will consent to submit evidence under Veritaserum, if you would just give me the chance, sir."

"Very well," I respond, as he pleads. "I shall offer you the choice of Veritaserum tomorrow at the trial, and then the truth shall be known. I am glad that I have prevented the conviction of an innocent. Good night, Mr. Black."

"Mr. Crouch, please, look after Harry."

Without heeding his words, I stand up, turn around, and exit the cell, locking the door once again. I head out of the hallway, and back into the warden's office, where he could be seen snoring his ass off. Subduing a feeling of utter disgust, I prod him in the shoulder with the sharp end of a quill lying on his desk, after sharpening it with a muttered charm. The quill sticks in his porky body, and draws blood as he yelps awake. He immediately splutters, "What the bloody hell did you do that for, you filthy bastard!"

I give him a very disapproving glance, with my arms crossed in front of my chest.

"Er, Mr. Crouch, I didn't see you there sir. Er… um… what business would you be having here, sir?"

"As a matter of fact, Warden, I have just visited the cell of Sirius Black. You were asleep on duty, intoxicated with alcohol, and I easily took the correct key out of the drawer behind you, conversed with the prisoner, and have now returned the key to the cabinet. I am now getting rid of an unneeded excess amount of Department wages. As of tonight, you have been demoted to recruit trainee, and as such, are required to pay a fee for training courses, equipment, et cetera. The trainers will be expecting you at six-thirty next morning, trainee."

The man is speechless with shock, and I move back out of the office to go home, thinking all the while, who would I get to replace the warden? Choices, choices.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_2 November, 1981_

_Morning_

As usual, I wake up this morning next to my wife. Without disturbing her, I get up and apparate into the bathroom as to not shift about in the covers too much. I quickly shave, leaving the small mustache, and calmly greet my son as he heads off to wherever he and his chums go these days. Honestly, youths of recent times. Who did they think they were?

Today is the day of Black's trial, I remember, and I get a house-elf to pick a black dress robe for the purpose, After applying the attire to my person and pulling on white gloves, then straightening my tie, I walk out of the bathroom. I walk into the closet, and pull out a deep purple colored cloak with a silver eagle clasp, I throw it over my shoulder and exit the house, leaving a message to my wife as to my whereabouts.

I walk to the local apparition point, then transport myself to the Level Two apparition point in the lobby. Swiftly, I proceed down the familiar corridors until I come to my office, and clear the security checks. In my office, I sit down in my chair, and reach over to the Self-Updating Schedule Pad set underneath the lampshade on the desk. I flip it open, and see that the trial is scheduled to be held just after nine in the evening. The only reason being that it involved the betrayal of a Secret-Keeping and the defeat of the Dark Lord; otherwise, Black would just be given a regular war-time trial. Fortunately, his was a high-security, major trial.

It was, at that time, eight in the morning, as I'd taken a bit longer in dressing than usual. After another few minutes, I started to read and approve several minor prison cell upgrade applications, which took up the better part of the next two hours. Some of the concepts involved piqued my interests, as they involved integrating muggle prison systems with our own, and I could see the prisons profiting from the ideas. Indeed, if Azkaban were to be inescapable before, there would be no word to describe the security after the renovations were made.

Then, for the rest of the morning, there was no particular incident save for the occasional renegade Death Eater being brought in, and several more sheets needing to be signed with every capture.

Upon noontide, it was brought to my attention by my aide, that I would need to eat if I were to work. I was ushered out of the office by the kind woman. The perfect wife, if she ever were to marry… perhaps I could arrange something for my son with her family? Of course, with such an organized wife, he might be motivated to actually find a job, and become a worthy heir to the family, the useless youth.

I stalk down to the kitchens, pondering possible marriage arrangements between my son and several worthy bloodlines; after all, useless as he may be, my son was the only heir to the Crouch fortune, and as such, merited a good wife. My musings were interrupted by the smell of onion soup wafting through the corridors from the cafeteria, and turn left to enter the room. Using my position as Head to my advantage, I moved to the front of the line, and pick up a steaming bowl, along with a small salad and some bread. I sit down at an empty seat, and consume the meal.

After another fifteen minutes, upon completion of the luncheon, I banish the tray rack at the side of the table, and press my wand to the notch on the railing. The tray, along with the empty bowl and plate, vanish to the kitchens, and I walk out of the double-doors and into the corridor. I head back to the lobby, and purchase a lightened bottle of spring water, charmed to hold two liters, and enter my office once again, to remain there for the rest of the afternoon, and the early evening.

The afternoon hours were punctuated only by the repetitive arrests of relatively low-ranking Death Eaters, and some common thieves, trouble makers, and occasional murderers. An average of three-hundred and twenty one forms were filled out; three to a prisoner, and I steadily tire on through the day.

Finally, it was eight-thirty, and I stood up to get ready for the trial. Then the shattering news came in, which would eventually lead to the imprisonment of an innocent man in Azkaban.

The attack on the Longbottoms.

I was called on to the scene, being the Head, and the fact that two Aurors were the victims made it unavoidable for me. I arrived, after a rough apparating trip, at the Longbottom townhouse in magical London. Aurors swarmed the area, and I made my way to the injured party: Frank and Alice Longbottom, both promising four-year Aurors.

Their condition appeared to lucidness due to overexposure to the Cruciatus Curse. They were taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, to the Intensive and Extensive Damage Room, to be diagnosed. Inquiries were made, evidence catalogued, and I oversaw the whole movement, and put the couple on indefinite leave for medical care as a precaution.

The witnesses had divulged a story, one that was predictable, but unavoidable. A few Dark Lord sympathizers, possibly Death Eaters, had raided the Longbottom house, apparently torturing them for information. Information which concerned the well-being and restoration of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Of course, the Longbottoms did not have any such information, and went mad after over half an hour under the curse.

The culprits were witnessed as resembling Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, and two as of yet unidentified males. One had black hair, and another dirty-blond.

The search was held, and I headed one of the teams, inquiring citizens and scouring the magical portion of the city. The next hours were spent in search of the suspects, and the tracking down of the perpetrators proved to be troublesome.

At midnight, the foursome was captured in Knockturn Alley, and the two unidentified persons had names put to them. I kept my face cold and formal, not moving a muscle as they were announced in a report to me by Auror Shacklebolt.

Dominic Wispwater, and Bartemius Crouch Junior.

The truth was broken to my wife. She fainted at the news, only waking up to sob once more. I on the otherhand, had another two hours to wait before the rescheduled trial of Sirius Black, and had to keep level-headed.

Fate interfered again, in the form of Albus Dumbledore. He convicted Black of his numerous felonies, and persuaded me in my exhausted state to preside over my son's trial in the morning.

The trial of Sirius Black was called off, and he was declared guilty, requesting one final meeting before he was shipped off to Azkaban.

Me.


	3. A New Dawn

**Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent**

**By: Lutris Argutiae**

**Chapter Three: A New Dawn**

_Pensieve Memories of Bartemius Crouch_

_3 November, 1981_

_Early Morning _

It was now two AM, two hours after the capture of Wispwater and my son, Bartemius Crouch Jr. on account of suspected Death Eater activity. The news hadn't sunk in yet, thankfully, as I hadn't given it much thought at the moment. No, what occupied my mind was far more sinister, considering the length and breadth of the betrayal of Peter Pettigrew.

I had yet to meet Sirius Black, convicted ex-Auror, with the crimes of Death Eater activity, mass murder of muggles, and the murder of Peter Pettigrew. He had requested one last meeting with me; perhaps from outside eyes it might seem that he wanted to plead his innocence one last time. I, on the other hand, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, knew the truth of his final wish.

I knew of his innocence.

He had, in fact, not been the Secret-Keeper for the Potters during their one-week in hiding from the Dark Lord in order to protect themselves, being a marked family. The Secret-Keeper, was in fact, the now presumed-to-be-dead Peter Pettigrew, or as Black knew him, Wormtail. I had yet to be told the reason for the name, and also why he wasn't dead. I suspected the two must be closely linked. The only way for the Fidelius Charm to fail other than the death of the Secret-Keeper was for the Secret-Keeper themselves to disclose the location of the hidden party.

In other words, Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord, and consequently, albeit probably unintentionally, brought about the defeat of his lord. Comnsidering this, and the fact that he cared for Harry Potter, his, as I had discovered the night before, godson, it was logical for Black to want to entrust him to the only person that he could trust. By reason, the only person he could trust was the only one that knew of his innocence. Ergo, myself.

So, keeping that highly likely possibility in my head, I departed towards the containment cells located in the general region of the Wizarding Courtrooms in the Ministry. I rode up the elevator to the designated floor, the automated female voice pronouncing the floor number and the offices located upon the floor. The door opens with a hiss, and I walk out. I stalk down to the thin courtroom corridors, and find my way down to the far wall, which seemed to be a dead-end. I pull out my wand, and cast an identity ward upon myself, and press the tip of the wand to a designated spot on the wall.

"Identity confirmed: Bartemius Crouch, Senior Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Wand confirmed: Ash, fourteen and one half inches, powdered dragon claw core. State reason for visit."

I reply in a formal tone, clipped with terse harshness. " I am visiting the convict Sirius Orion Black, as per his final request before being taken to Azkaban Prison. Security override: Montimaeus-Z-Alpha98243. "

The woman's voice, the same as the elevator, I notice once again, replies in as frigid tone as I had used. "Security override confirmed, reason for visit confirmed. Wizard identity, wand identity confirmed. Submit wand for security."

A slim hole opens up, and I slide the wooden shaft into it, watching the wall dissolve over it again. The wall falls away, revealing a door behind it. I step up, and climb a short step, before reaching up to the doorknob and turning it. I am allowed entry, and pass through the door with a slight pull on the navel.

These high-security doors designated for convicts were specially designed by the best of the Department of Mysteries, and were one of the few items revealed for Ministry personnel in regards to said Department. In essence, the only thing they were the same as to a door was the shape and the doorknob. The whole object was basically a wall, with a doorknob sticking out of it. One would touch a designated spot, and be transported to the other side, emulating effects of a Portkey and Floo transportation systems with a non-moving object. After all, it was said to be impossible to travel with a Portkey while leaving the object behind. This made this possible, and that was one of the reasons that this was kept away from the eyes and ears of the public.

I blink upon entry, and my eyes adjust to the gloom. I step into the only occupied cell at the moment, and look upon Black. If possible, his appearance is worse than what it was yesterday, and he makes no attempt to shoot me with his finger this time. I knock upon the door, and with it recognizing my magical signature and security override, opened up, allowing me to walk into the room, if it could be called that.

Black notices me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his hair matted from the neglect it had received during the past few days.

"Oh, so you're here are you? Right then. Hup!" He stands up from the ground with a slight weeze and effort, and sits on the cot at the side, beckoning me to take the stool. I did.

"Why did you request me here?" I thought the answer obvious, but decided to wait until the facts were straight.

"Well, it's about Harry," He starts, before coughing again, and continues. " I've been doing some thinking, and I reckon that Dumbledore knows I'm innocent. I know for a fact thatm Dumbledore was at the casting of the Fidelius, because it has to be cast by a third party. He cast it. Which means that he's pushing me out of the way between him and Harry."

"I presume this is about your godson's role in the Dark Lord's defeat?"

"Yeah, I think that Voldemort's not dead."

"Don't say the name," I flinch, then reply, " Why do you think so?"

"Because if I were there, I would be the best one around to influence Harry. He doesn't want that for some reason. That means that he still has plans for him, and I know that Dumbledore's not the kind that helps celebrities with their schedules. I reckon that he thinks that Vol… sorry, You-Know-Who, might come back." he scoffs here. I ignore him. "The prophecy states that…" I cut him off.

"What prophecy?"

"Er… I thought you knew already. The one that says Harry's the only one that can kill You-Know-Who. Shall I recite the part I know?" He says in a mocking tone, albeit not meant in an insulting way.

"I would appreciate it, Black."

"Right. Here we go. _The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies. Born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. _Or something or other like that.That's the gist of it, really."

This clarified a lot of things. The reason for Dumbledore's lackeys at the attack site was now apparent. Clearly, he wanted his hands on the Potter boy, since he could not face down the Dark Lord by himself, as prophecy dictated. No, he would want to control the boy, if only for his advancement. But Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor, and not the type to go looking for fame and political progress. He wanted Harry Potter for some other reason, and the only reason Black could, and also I could come up with, was that Harry Potter was still needed to fight the Dark Lord. Ergo, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was, in fact, not as dead as I had previously believed.

If that was so, and considering the state of order in the Death Eaters, or rather, lack of it, the Dark Lord was currently not available for action. Since his body was found at Godric's Hollow, it was only reasonable that while his body had died, he had found a way to keep his soul alive, and was presumably in a wraith-like form, weaker than the weakest ghost. He would require time to come back to his body, especially if it were to decay, as all the rituals he pushed it through must have accelerated the process of decomposition. Therefore he would have to create a completely new shell for himself, and that would take at least ten years at minimum. We had time.

"I see what you are proposing, Black. You want me to adopt Harry, don't you?"

He splutters, apparently not expecting me to work it out as fast as I had. "Um… yes, as a matter of fact. You're the only one I can trust, Bartemius. You're the only one that knows I'm innocent. You know the laws well enough and all the loopholes as well, and you know what, over a hundred languages? Prepare Harry for his destiny. I know you're against Dark magic, but you're willing to use it if the situation calls for it. This is a situation like that. Harry MUST be trained if he is to defeat the Dark Lord. I don't see Dumbledore teaching him any effective offensive magic if he sticks to Light spells." He replies in a serious tone.

"Fortunately, I had predicted that you would be wanting this earlier. The law states that you are not held against your rights as a citizen until your arrival at Azkaban Prison. I took the liberty of filling out the forms, Black. All that is needed is your signature, magical, and with a quill. Completely legal."

Black looks flabbergasted, and I hand him the parchment and quill, luckily it has an unlimited ink supply. He signs it with a flourish, and pours a minute, unnoticeable amount of his magic in, completing the forms.

I stand up, and look him into the eye as he does the same.

"I hereby give my word on pain of death and my soul and magic, that I shall train and prepare Harry Potter in any way necessary for his eventual defeat of the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his servants."

"Thank you, Barty. I can rest, knowing that you are in charge, not Albus. Barty." He nods, and I do the same, turning my back on him. "Sirius."

I walk out of the room, and head back towards the apparition point, where I disapparate to my residence, and fall asleep, my mind oblivious to the disaster the next day would bring.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_3 November, 1981_

_Late Morning_

I snap awake, taking in the late hour. Nine o'clock… I get up once more, and grab an energy potion off of the medicine cabinet, as I usually did when the last night's work was too stressful. The potion would ensure that I would be active for the next twelve hours. After that, a good night's sleep would suffice.

Too in a rush to bother changing my clothes properly, I transfigure them into something trial-worthy, and finish my various toiletries as quick as possible from the help of a few wayward charms. Haphazardly, I rush out of the door, not forgetting to cast the locking and security charms before doing so, and run towards the apparition point.

With a crack, I arrive at the Auror offices in the Ministry, and walk swiftly to the elevator. A few minutes later finds me in Courtroom Ten, preparing for my son's trial. My wife sat beside me, wispy and sad-looking. I took a calming draught to sooth my anxiety, and cast an Incompassion Charm upon myself. I had to give a fair trial; my son, or not.

I felt a nerve twitch in my temple, and I announce to the guards, the sound ringing through the silence of the room. The doors opened, and six dementors entered, along with four prisoners, one of which was my son.

They were led to four chairs in the center of the courtroom, and were made to sit in them, chains wrapping themselves around their arms. I recognize the Lestranges right away; Rodolphus just stares at me with a blank expression, and I see his wife, Bellatrix astride the chair as if she were royalty, which I knew her to be raised as. Oh, how I hate Dark families.

I am about to speak, when I notice Dumbledore pulling his wand out. I wonder what danger had arisen, but dismiss it as a security caution as I see the Death Eaters, or at least most of them, try to struggle out of their chairs; accidental magic can be quite powerful.

Suddenly, I feel enraged. There is no other description for it. I feel hate, drastic hate, at the ones sitting in the pit-like section of the room beneath and forwards to my position. The four in the restraining seats are evil. I am the punisher for evil. They shall pay for their crimes. I glare at my wife who is now rocking back and forth in her seat, handkerchief placed at her nose, whimpering.

As I shift my gaze at the renegade Dark wizards before me, I feel that hatred once again, and a single train of thought crosses my mind, controlling my thoughts. Dark wizards were evil. They were Dark. They were entitled to a free life stay in Azkaban. Put them into Azkaban!

I stand up, fury etched into my mental processes, and I suspect that my face reflects my mood. As clearly as I can, so the whole hall can here, I say, "You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law, so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous…"

My son. No, the Dark filth before me cries out pitifully, while I ignore him in contempt. "Father… Father… please…"

I continue with the announcement regardless of his pleas, and my voice starts to drown his out with increasing volume. "…that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court. We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror- Frank Longbottom-, and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

The boy shrieks in anguish, attempting to stifle my voice. The scum. "Father, I didn't! I didn't, I swear it Father, don't send me back to the dementors…""

I bellow out in an even larger voice, if that is even possible without aid of magic. "You are further accused, of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably held while he was strong. I now ask the jury-"

My…no, not son, the teen screams at the woman beside me, my wife. "Mother! Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"I now ask the jury," I shout, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

Wizarding folk seated along the side of the walls all raise their hands. The crouds surrounding them all clap madly, faces full of barbaric victory.

"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!" My son screams again, and again I ignore him, my wife's sobbing consuming my ears. I couldn't bear to see her in pain, and the catalyst of this was the traitor I fed with my own food, and raised in my own home. I feel sickened by it.

Dementors glide back into the room, and the female Lestrange looks up at me and shouts, " The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!", while my son struggles against the soul-suckers. The crowd cheers, and taunts them, and they were swept out of the dungeons, and the boy screams up at me.

"I'm your son!"

I glare at him, and bellow. "You are no son of mine! I HAVE NO SON!"

My wife gasps, and she collapses on the floor, unconscious. I ignore this, and yell at the dementors, "Take them away! Take them away, and may they rot there!"

0o0o0o0o0o0

_3 November, 1981_

_Late afternoon_

I have looked in my pensieve journal over the past few hours, and have finally come to the court scene. I progress along to the point where I remember screaming, when I notice something. Dumbledore had pulled his wand. But it wasn't pointed at the prisoners. After my memory counterpart had looked back at my wife, I could see a barely visible spell hitting him in the back. I am not the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for nothing. I can recognize the form of spell right away.

A thought influencing charm.

Coupled with my enraged state and unnatural hatred towards my son, I can discern the purpose of the spell; expert, or no. Dumbledore had forced me to hatred towards my own flesh and blood, and I had fallen right into his hands. It would mean untold repercussions for my reputation, and the reputation of the Crouch line, not to mention my shame and fury at Dumbledore for such blatant manipulations.

My mind was set. I would hold Dumbledore on account of this, and file it within the Ministry records. I scarcely moved to the closet to retrieve my cloak when a horned owl swooped in through the owl grate through the ceiling. It was a Ministry owl, carrying a Ministry notice.

I know what it is, even before opening it. It is my worst fears come to light. It is my nightmare.

I open it up, and unfold the letter. I read the text on the page, shock making its way present in my mind, even with the preconceived idea running around in it.

I had been demoted, and relocated to the Department of International Magical Relations, as a middle-ranking officer. One to be sent overseas, and to other nations for years on end.

I collapse right there on the spot, the grief finally making itself present.

I had condemned my only son to a life in hellish confines. I had lost my honor and prestige. My beliefs had been shattered. I was destroyed.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Several weeks later…

_25 December, 1981_

_Late morning_

I was doing fairly well in the new Department, and had adjusted to it during the past few weeks. I had moved up a rank in the hierarchy from my organizational skills and managing ability, and the Department of International Magical Relations had profited and made astounding success from my work.

My wife was still in depression, and had since the trial, only gotten in a worse and worse state. Her magic was severely depleted and weak, and she had had to visit St. Mungo's Hospital several times a week just to be able to normally function. She was now taking thirteen potions a day, five in the morning, three at noon, and five at night. And yet, her health was still declining.

It was because of the condemning of my son, which I had ordered. I feel saddened at her condition from my choices, though influenced by an outside forces, they had still been my own choices. Besides, who would believe a demoted, un-honorable, disgraced man who was surely bitter for all the things done to him?

No one.

In fact, the only thing that pressed me to go onwards, and my wife, was the presence of young Harry James Crouch-Potter. He had pressed my wife to continue living merely by his being there, and so she kept caring for him. He had become her reason for living, and had since grown into my heart. I swore to Black that I would take care of this child, and I swore to myself that I would never, ever fail this boy in the manner I did my own son.

But, he simply was no replacement for Barty Jr. for my wife. He filled the spot somewhat, but he was no replacement. She had convinced me, in her saddened state, to brew several weeks worth of Polyjuice potion. I had done so over the past few weeks, and I had done so to placate her depression.

Her reasons are clear to me now. She is standing beside me, with the potions on her person. We are in Azkaban Prison, visiting our son for Christmas. Or so any outsider would have thought. No, there was an escape attempt going on. I did not agree to this, but had to do it. My wife was dying, and she had known it.

She had made this her dying wish, and I had no choice but to comply.

She was to replace herself with him, and continue living her last days here, in the Prison. Undoubtedly, she would not last long, as the mediwizards predicted her death by the end of February. She would die in a few weeks, and would do so in the form of her son, allowing me to escort him out of the Prison, and into our residence, where he could be hidden.

When we finally reach his cell, we immediately start to prepare for the switch. She plucked a hair from his head, and I from hers. They are inserted into the Polyjuice, and both parties drink it. My wife steps out of the cell, and my son enters it.

This is the last time I see her alive.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_14 January, 1982_

_Late afternoon_

It is my wife's funeral. Or rather, it is my son's. The casket is empty either way. Officially, my son died in prison weeks ago. My wife had taken the Potion till the end, and was never found out since the inmates, if dead, were buried during the hour after death.

So, my wife, at least publicly, died a few short weeks later, maddened from grief.

I pay my respects, thinking of my choices. I could give up. I could fall into misery; I could do a lot of things. But Black had made me swear, and I owed it to my wife. I would train Harry to prepare for his destiny, for that is my duty. He could help keep my son in line if his beliefs were unchanged. Harry would be the perfect warrior against the Dark. He would defeat the Dark Lord in his eventual rebirth.

I smile the first smile in a very long time, albeit with tears trickling from my eyes. I turn with conviction, and leave for my home. I have a new mission.

One that I will not fail.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_Author's Notes._

_I had chosen to not include a disclaimer in my story, as it would be quite imprudent to run a fanfiction site when there were no permission rights from the authors. Therefore, since the site must have some sort of approval from JK, I chose to not include a disclaimer, other than the exclamation here. Canon characters including, but not limited to: Harry Potter, Bartemius Crouch, and Albus Dumbledore, locations such as the Ministry of Magic, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and some spells are all intellectual of J.K. Rowling. Copyright includes but is not limited to Bloomsbury, Warner Brothers, and Scholastic._

_I would like to note that much of the trial scene is adapted from chapter thirty-one, 'The Pensieve', form Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._

_Next chapter, we start to see the growth of Harry, and the psychological development of his of-sorts brother, Barty Crouch Jr. It will be told in third person, but occasionally in this series, the Pensieve Journal idea will be used._

_Thank you, and please Review._

_Au revoir,_

_Lutris Argutiae_


	4. Enter the Lion

**Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent **

**By: Lutris Argutiae**

**Chapter Four: Enter the Lion**

0o0o0o0o0o0

Albus Dumbledore was happy; happier than he had been a long time, especially considering the mix-up of the Potter scion in his plans. Oh yes, Black had proved resilient and rebellious till the end, the cheeky little bugger. He had almost lost custody of Potter, and in fact he had; but his plans won out in the end, insuring control of the boy in the future, when his destiny really would matter.

After all, Bartemius Crouch Senior was now a disgraced man, and too depressed and agonized to mount a suitable defense against him. His son imprisoned, and in turn dead, his wife dead in conjunction to that fact, and his reputation blasted to itsy-bitsy tiny little pieces. When he came back to his senses, he would no doubt care for Harry as his own son, to prevent the descent into darkness of his firstborn occurring in his adopted son. He would drive the rules, predictably verbatim into little Harry's mind, ingraining them into his train of thought.

Which, Albus noted, would not be bad at all, considering the threat of dark magic over the Potter boy. Indeed, the effects of his survival of the Killing Curse was highly unpredictable, as it had never, ever happened before in the history of wizardkind. It mayhap would work in Harry's favor, maybe not, considering the nature of such things.

Albus gave a shiver.

He was playing with the fates, he was. Bartering and dancing with Fate and Death, he was facing the board with his pawns, and his pawn had just started to move towards becoming the queen. But, as in all chess games, the white pawn had to bypass the dangers and perils of the black pieces, and survive the onslaught of dark forces in order to metamorphose into an all powerful and omnipotent queen. Little Harry was a pawn, and he had just taken the first step into transforming into the ultimate weapon against the Dark Lord, when he eventually returned.

His stay with Bartemius would insure his allegiance to the Light and the Ministry; he would respect his elders dearly, and perform well in classes. Barty's psyche was just too proud and orderly to not have his son excel in classes, while being subservient to the ruling system. Perhaps it was better this way; to have Barty adopt and care for Harry. Indeed, his muggle relatives all but hated Lily and her magic, not to mention any and all things the slightest bit 'unnatural'. Being raised in an environment where he would be hated and despised would not be good for the boy, and certainly not good for the future of the Wizarding World. His life would mirror Tom Marvolo Riddle's, and though that would be interesting in itself, wouldn't be worth taking the risk to do so.

For the Potter boy was powerful, too powerful. He was even more powerful than Albus Dumbledore would dare admit. In the far future, he was sure that the brat would far surpass his own powers, but by then, he would be firmly entrenched in his manipulations and plans, so no threat would be posed towards himself. If the boy took to dark magic like Tom Riddle had… no, the world could not dare to risk another Lord Voldemort; it would be much too dangerous.

Albus did not understand Black's choice of adoptive parent; Crouch hardly ever talked to him, except for briefings in Auror missions, or maybe superior/employee discussions. But of course, that may had lead to the choice in his deluded and confused mind in the presence of dementors; his superior officer, one he could trust with his life if he wanted to. Yes, the question was answered, and Albus was content. For now, he would wish the Potter boy luck in his growth at his new destinations spanning the whole globe. Bartemius was being sent as a diplomat to many countries, ending with the Japanese Ministry of Magic, and by necessity, Harry would have to follow.

Harry would grow even more disciplined in that environment; he had heard that the Japanese people were very strict in their ways. Albus sighed. It would force Harry to revere his elders even more. And with the lack of possible Dark influence that being in Britain could put on him… Oh, Albus was looking forward to the Boy Who Lived's future arrival under his care.

The perfect weapon to face down Voldemort.

But Albus Dumbledore had not taken into account some very important factors in Harry's growth.

One, his adoptive father's awareness concerning the prophecy, and Two, the survival of Bartemius Crouch Junior, convicted Death Eater.

It would be fair to say, that Albus Dumbledore wouldn't get what he had expected.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_Thirteen Years Later.._

"Harry! You better be ready to depart immediately! Packed! NOW!"

The thunderous voice of Bartemius Crouch Senior bellowed out in throughout the small apartment they had been renting for the hectic past three days. Of course, just having arrived from his diplomatic station in Tokyo, Japan, his father _had_ been a little, all right, maybe a small bit more than a little easily irritated. Not about to risk said man's anger upon his person, fourteen-year-old Harry Crouch-Potter roared out in a voice as filled with volume as his adoptive father.

"Yes Father! Just five more minutes to get the rest of my books packed! You know I need to get all the Ancient Runes texts in place!"

"Fine! FIVE more minutes! Then we are taking the Portkey to the Platform, you hear me!"

Harry called down his affirmation. "Yes, sir."

He looked at the books in question, stacked in a corner of his impromptu desk that they, or rather his father, had constructed with transfigured materials. He strode to the desk, taking only two strides, and stepping over the large trunk lying on the floor, grasped the numerous tomes, and set them down on the floor. He pulled a key out of his enchanted wallet, (good for storing anything small, or so the shop-keeper had said) and stuck it into the lock on the lid, and turned it so that it clicked four times.

The aforementioned trunk swung open, revealing a four by three foot wooden bookshelf on the interior of it, and had someone else been there, they would have noticed that all of the necessary texts to aspire for a Ministry job, a perfect OWL and NEWTS grade, or any other respectable titles would have been found there; at least all the most notable and most revered ones. Harry picked up the Ancient Runes textbook and resources, and moving his arm to a shelf marked _Textbooks_, cleared a space and placed them in their respective places amongst the other subject/ alphabetical order sorted course books.

He swept his gaze over the entire room, small as it was, and noted that nothing that shouldn't have been left was there, and nothing was out of place. He had packed all of his clothing in the third compartment of the trunk; all of his robes, cloaks, muggle clothing, and spare uniforms were kept in there, and there was nary an article of attire left lying in the room.

Clothing, check.

Course materials were in Compartment Two, including the crystal phials for Potions, the phial rack, cauldrons, basic ingredients all students were required to keep stock of, spare quills, parchment, ink, inkwells… no, nothing was missing. All of his personal affects were either in the first compartment or were on his person somehow, and so merited no concern.

With a resigned sigh, Harry closed the lid of the trunk, turned the key back to the assumed 'locked' position, and picked up the handle, suddenly very grateful for the lightening charms pre-placed on the object. He pulled it out of his room, squeezing through the doorway with some difficulty, but managing to get out without scratching anything across anything else. He made his way towards the small lobby two doors down, and called out to his father, who was standing in front of the closed door, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Father, I've got everything packed now."

"Five minutes and twelve seconds, Harry. You promised just five minutes." His father said harshly, peering into the small brass watch dangling from the chain on his neck.

Harry responded in a formal tone. "I am sorry, Father. It won't happen again."

His father gave a small nod in affirmation. "See to it that it doesn't, son. For now, let us depart."

With an uncharacteristic grin, Bartemius Crouch produced a small glass bottle from its resting spot on the floor near the shoebox, and tapped it with his wand. Motioning for Harry to come to his spot, he shrunk the trunk behind him and pocketed it, holding the bottle out to his son.

"And now, Harry, let me present to you Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters."

0o0o0o0o0o0

For all the talk and rumours of the fabled train station, it wasn't all what it was cut out to be, was Harry's first thought upon arriving into the designated Portkey entry-point of said station. Indeed, it was impressive, with the proud crimson train and bustling families seeing their children off to school.

But, it was _exactly_ what all of the Ministry handbooks and his father's descriptions had told him it would be like, and the fact that it could be described in its fullest sense in words made it all the more dull.

Sensing his father's unusual eagerness to show him to the train, Harry wondered if the… joy, would be the only word, of seeing his son about to depart to Hogwarts might have made him slightly overenthusiastic and forget certain things.

For one, his dislike of Dumbledore, and two, that he was only attending the school because of the new work his father had been assigned, thereby leaving him no time to care for his son. It did not add up, until Harry had considered the possibility that his father actually was _proud_ of his son finally gracing the halls of Hogwarts, just like himself. _Of course, _Harry thought, _after all, honor and tradition came first in the Crouch family's sense of morals, didn't it?_

"I shall see you soon, at Hogwarts, my son. Make some worthwhile allies at the institution, Harry. They could prove useful in the future. And although I am sure you will be diligent, do not slip up around the old coot's gaze; practice your meditation nightly. For now, get on that train, and find a compartment to rest in; the ride is long and tiresome. I shall see you soon."

"Yes Father." Harry knew better than to question his father. "I am aware of the situation with Headmaster Dumbledore, and will do my best as to not disturb your work, Father."

"Very well. Now, go on Harry."

With a slight affirmative nod, Harry turned around, receiving his shrunken trunk from his father, and slipping it into the breast-pocket of his uniform shirt. He walked over to the nearest train car, and gave a small wave to his father, who returned it with a barely noticeable smile gracing his lips; obviously, caring for a son had changed him over the years.

Harry prowled down the corridor, and found an empty compartment in the second car he had entered. He opened the door, and stepped inside, taking in the view. He promptly sat down, pulled out a book, and started reading it. Hid (very much secret) elder brother had recommended the spells in it, and he was indulging in the privacy of the Express. He had read for a few minutes, but started to feel drowsy, and before he even noticed it, dozed off.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_Misato nudged him from behind. "Hey Harry. How's the day coming for you?"_

_Harry, with a slightly younger voice, answered her. "Oh, just wonderful. You know that Murakami Sensei just assigned me extra homework for his class? It just got worse. Now Mizushima Sensei is dumping more work on me too. Isn't that just fabulous?"_

_Misato just ignored his blatant sarcasm. "That doesn't give an excuse for not showing up at the Physicals last night. You missed the first lesson."_

"_Pish. I'll make it up. I always do."_

"_I'll hold you to your word Harry. But hey, what's life without a few challenges, right?"_

_Harry smirked at his first crush, although she was unaware of it. True, he had missed the Physical Education class of the previous evening, but his father had made him attend seminars for those since he was four years old, and he doubted that they would learn anything he already didn't know about._

_He put his arm around her, and feeling no apprehension, nuzzled in her shoulder. "You better get to class Misato. You have Advanced Sealing Techniques next right? Kanzaki's going to throw a tantrum if you're late to his class again."_

_She gave a small laugh, and shrugged herself free from his hold. She paused, as if remembering something, and said, "Before I forget, the others and I are meeting up in muggle Shibuya after school. Show up, would you? See you later Harry!". Amazingly, she did so in one breath, then shot off towards the east wing of the training compound, where her next class was taking place. _

_Harry watched her form dash towards her classroom, a warm fuzz in his heart. He shook his head forcibly, making the feelings retreat to the back of his mind. For now, he had Highly Advanced Magical Combat to attend._

0o0o0o0o0o0

Daphne stood in the hallways of the Hogwarts Express, panting heavily. It wasn't enough that she had woken up late and had forgotten to pack. No, she had taken the wrong exit in the Floo, and had landed in Madam Malkin's, of all places. Then she had to be taken by an Auror to the Platform, by way of Apparation, before she could miss the train.

If the kind law enforcer hadn't shrunken her trunk for her, she would have missed it. Ergo, resulting in her being late for term.

Of course, she _had_ made it in time, but only just before the whistle had sounded. So now she needed a seat for the long and arduous ride to Hogwarts. Sighing, she straightened her back, and flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. She would have to search out an empty compartment, or at least as empty a compartment could get after the departure of the Express.

She made her way down the corridor, and eventually came to a compartment which seemed to be devoid of any chattering students' voices. She came to a halt in front of the door, and after knocking (it never hurt to be courteous), she slid it open.

There was a boy sitting by the window, apparently fast asleep, with a smile gracing his lips. Not recognizing him, she took in his features. He looked about her age, maybe a fourth year or fifth year. She shifted her gaze to his head, where a black mess of hair could be seen, looking more like a crow's nest than anything.

Here, the boy's eyes suddenly fluttered open, as if sensing her presence, and his sleepy gaze moved itself to meet her own.

"Who're you?" Considering his slurred speech, he did not seem to be fully awake.

"Er…, I'm Daphne Greengrass… Slytherin fourth year. And you?"

The boy shook his head with a small amount of force, presumably to wake himself up. "Right. The name's Harry. Harry Crouch. Pleasure."

Daphne nodded, and went to sit down on the seat opposite him. "You don't mind me sitting here, do you?"

"No, it's bound to be a long ride anyway. Any company is good company, I say. Besides, I need to start making friends sometime right?" Harry responded, albeit with a formal expression. Daphne didn't notice him shoving a small book in his back pocket, and asked the question that had bugged her

"So, said your name was Crouch. Any relation to Bartemius Crouch?"

"I'm his son. Adopted."

"Alright then. Just wondering, is all. Thought I'd ask." Daphne said.

"And so I figure you're the Greengrass heiress?" Harry queried.

"I am she. And proud to be it."

"I see."

After that, the topics in conversation shifted from various topics, including various heated arguments about international Quidditch teams, about the Sorting Ceremony at Hogwarts, life, death, and the usual teenage perspectives on various things. Before they had hardly noticed, day had turned into night, the trolley-lady had gone by for the umpteenth time, and they were fast approaching arrival at Hogsmeade Station.

Daphne looked at the youth before her once more; he truly was an enjoyable character. But a little uptight in some aspects too… But that was expectable, seeing that he was Bartemius Crouch's son. The strict rules that must have been enforced in that household, she could not imagine. But then she remembered something from his mumblings before he first woke up. Something about Misato.

"Harry," She started. "Who's Misato?"

The raven-haired boy jumped. "Who told you about her!" He snapped vehemently.

"Whoa, easy there hotshot. Just wanted to know. You were mumbling something about ceilings and Misato or something or other. You know. Me and my curiosity." Daphne mumbled back.

"Just a friend. When I was living in Japan with my father. Us two and some others would generally hang out at places like Harajuku and Shibuya in central Tokyo."

"Oh, I see. Dare I venture a guess? Big crush? Girlfriend?" Daphne persistently teased.

"No, nothing like that! Just friends. Just friends." Harry responded, a little too hurriedly. Daphne did not notice the pained expression crossing his face.

"If you say so then, Harry."

After that, the two adolescents' moods were considerably dampened, and conversion declined. A mere five gloomy minutes later, the conductor announced that their arrival at Hogsmeade would be in ten minutes, and Harry let Daphne change first, courtesy of etiquette lessons from his father.

So, after the two were dressed in their robes (Harry's were unmarked with a House crest), and the Hogwarts Express ground to a halt at the station, they departed their compartment, and went their separate ways; Harry for the boats crossing the lake, and Daphne to the horse-less carriages leading up to the castle.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The Welcoming Feast was about to start, and Albus Dumbledore could barely contain his excitement at having to finally meet the Potter boy. His expectations for him were very high, and he was sure that he would not be disappointed by the boy's performance.

He had heard from his contacts in the Japanese Ministry, and so far had only received positive news in regards to Harry Potter. Very disciplined, obedient, with a strict sense of morals… in short, the perfect pawn. If he was at all anything of the likes of what he had imagined him to be, then he would be by far the most valuable piece in the game, and set to becoming his proverbial queen on the chessboard against the Dark.

Oh yes, did he have plans for the prophecy bound champion and bastion of the Light, oh yes indeed.

But, he would have to take it one step at a time, and the Sorting Ceremony was but the first of the many milestones set in the road to victory. Naturally, he had instructed the Hat to place him in Gryffindor, where he would grow in the presence of the Weasleys, one of the more prominent pureblood families who were completely sworn to the Light. From there, Harry's development into the perfect warrior would blossom, and Voldemort's second defeat would come swiftly. The use of Harry as a political figurehead and puppet within the Ministry would be utterly final and set in stone, placing him, Albus Dumbledore, at the prime seat of power in the shadows.

Albus put on a slightly barmy smile on his face as to conceal his dark grin, and plucked a lemon-drop from the satchel that was hooked on his waist. He popped it into his mouth, and sucked on it for a while, relishing its taste. Minerva had just gone to retrieve the First Years, and it was only a few more moments until their Sortings were to take place.

Indeed, a mere half a minute later, dozens of little boys and girls came bustling up the main aisle between the House tables, led by the Transfigurations Professor, Minerva McGonnagle. She announced their task, and he absentmindedly nodded each of their ways when the Hat announced its decision. He was too anxious to meet Potter to take care of any other matters.

Finally, it appeared all of the aspiring students were all Sorted, and it came to be the time for announcements. Albus stood, and casting a minute and wandless sonorous charm upon his voice, he spoke.

"I would like to announce a few things before the Feast is commenced." He started.

"Now, as I am sure all returning students are well aware of the fact that the Forbidden Forest is just that; forbidden, and that you First Years will keep that in mind. Curfews are the same as last year, at seven thirty. And, I was asked by our Caretaker, Mr.Filch, to remind you that the forbidden items list has been extended to include disastrous discus's, Instant icecubes, biting books, and ever-lasting dungbombs. The complete list may be seen outside his office, to be perused at will. And, now to the good news. First, all Quidditch matches this year have been canceled."

As expected, this drew out an uproar from the vast majority of the students in the Hall, and Albus had to wait several moments for the noise to clear.

"Yes, yes, you heard me right. And no, I am not going barmy, as you put it, Mr.Weasley."

The redhead boy seated at the Gryffindor Table muttered inaudibly.

"But there is a perfectly good reason for that! So do not fret, do not fret, another event is occurring this year, which is an apt replacement enough for Quidditch!"

He paused for a moment, for dramatic impact (and to further awe the students. Oh how he loved his job) "For the Triwizard Tournament is being held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the first time in over a century! Delegations from the French school of Beauxbatons and the German school of Durmstrang shall arrive later in the year, and I would like for you to extend a warm welcome to them all. But! More of that when the time comes. For now, I would like to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor: Professor Alastor Moody!"

A person could have heard a pin drop, considering the silence in the room. The students were shocked into silence, and in the lack of sound, a small _clunk, clunk_ could be heard. After a few long seconds, the battle-worn and scarred form of 'Mad-Eye' Moody made itself seen at the staff table, and he bowed to the stunned hall, his electric blue eyeball whizzing around wildly. Finally, he sat down, and a collective breath was exhaled from the students. After all, it wasn't everyday a young wizard could lay his eyes on one of the most famous Aurors in recent history.

"Yes, yes, but Professor Moody is not the only addition Hogwarts shall see tonight. I would like to welcome Mr. Harry Crouch-Potter to the Fourth Year curriculum! Mr. Potter, if you would?"

The doors to the Great Hall groaned open, and the giant form of Rubeus Hagrid could be seen leading a smaller figure up to the staff table, to where the Sorting Hat lay on its stool. The students were raptly staring at this boy, the boy they all took for their savior and grew up hearing stories about.

The Boy Who Lived.

Harry reached the stool, and promptly bowed to him, the Headmaster. He began in a polite tone, "Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Now now, my boy, no need to be so formal. How was the Express, Mr. Potter?"

Albus replied.

"As well as could be possibly expected sir. I encountered a few interesting characters."

"Ah, that is good to hear, my dear boy. Now, put on the Sorting Hat, and be welcomed to Hogwarts!" Albus enthusiastically cheered him on.

Harry bowed again, turned around, then walked back to the stool. He picked the Sorting Hat off the seat, plopped himself down on it, and pulled the Hat on.

The whole Hall broke out in whispers, speculating which house the celebrity would get in to. Most guessed Gryffindor, indeed all did, and no one could conceal their surprise, although slight in most of them, when the Hat opened its brim after about a minute of silence.

"RAVENCLAW!"

0o0o0o0o0o0

_Thirty minutes ago…_

Harry thought that the lake really was rather fascinating, as he had been made to study the history of Hogwarts rather thoroughly. Preparing for his destiny, according to his father, had included learning pointless facts in history.

Although, he couldn't doubt his father about the beauty of the school anymore. Indeed, the night-time view of the castle from the lake was rather breathtaking, and the flickering candle-lit lanterns on the boats only added to the atmosphere. Sighing, he thought about what was to come. He and his father had agreed that Dumbledore would probably try to force him into Gryffindor House, where he would most likely be approached by the numerous 'Light' believers entrenched in Dumbledore's service. He would probably be able to survive that, but, as his father had said, it would be considerably easier to just avoid all of the hassle created by that, and just enter another House.

His father had recommended Ravenclaw House, his own house, as a good place to be Sorted into. So, Ravenclaw it was, as his father's word was final, and he could tell a dismissal when he heard one.

Hagrid had announced the arrival of the boats to the shore, and had instructed all of the students to disembark towards the Great Hall, which could be seen in the distance. Harry was pulled aside by the large man before he could start to walk down, and the groundskeeper looked into his eyes.

"Dumbledore told me you'd be comin' this year, 'Arry. The name's ''Agrid, Rubeus Hagrid. I'm supposed to be guidin' ya down to the Hall fer yer Sortin', so I'm takin' ya there now."

Harry nodded politely, and still silent, had followed the half-giant to the doors. They arrived when the First Year students were called in to be Sorted, and Harry went over his mental list of caution. His robes were straightened out, tie pulled on perpendicular to his waist, hair as neat as he could get it, glasses not crooked, and his shoelaces were expertly tied. Dumbledore would be looking for a prim and proper student; the model of a perfect and orderly pawn. So, appearance came first, as that determined the first impression. His speech came next, and that would be nice and polite; greeting, light banter, and after dismissal, do the requested task.

He had barely finished going over the list when Hagrid motioned to Harry, and pushed the great doors open to reveal the Hall to him. He could hear Dumbledore giving his final words of his welcoming speech, and, walked through the expected silence in a dignified manner befitting his celebrity status.

He reached the Headmaster, and greeted him cordially, opening with a bow.

"Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Now now, my boy, no need to be so formal. How was the Express, Mr. Potter?"

The Professor replied.

"As well as could be possibly expected sir. I encountered a few interesting characters." Harry gave a polite anwer.

"Ah, that is good to hear, my dear boy. Now, put on the Sorting Hat, and be welcomed to Hogwarts!" Though Harry could see it as an act, the Headmaster enthusiastically cheered him on.

Harry bowed again, turned around, then walked back to the stool. He picked the Sorting Hat off the seat, plopped himself down on it, and pulled the Hat on.

-_Ahh, so Mr. Potter has finally come to Hogwarts eh?-_The croaking voice that was the Hat's spoke.

_-Yes, Hat. May I humbly ask for council as to my Sorting?-_

_-Hmm? Speak up, I haven't got all night you know.- _The Hat said.

_-Where has the Headmaster asked you to place me? Gryffindor, I presume?-_

_-Ahh. An intelligent one we have here… yes, he has asked me to place you in Godric's House, as to link you with your birth-parents… but you wish to be sorted where your surrogate father went, do you not?-_

_-Yes, sir. I may need to avoid Headmaster Dumbledore's manipulations as well. I am vital to his plans, and I wish to escape detection as much as can be possible- _Harry explained.

_-A sly one, aren't you? But no matter; you do not have the ambition as much as would befit a Slytherin,though you have it in vast quantities. You are hard working, but only to the extent of studies and preparing for your… destiny? Ahh, then the House of the brave is not for you. It shall be RAVENCLAW for you, young Potter._ _Off you go. Good luck in your quest for knowledge..-_

Harry needed no prompting, and he pulled the Hat off of his head, stood up, and set the aged garment back down on the stool. Amidst the avid cheering erupting from the Ravenclaws, he could see that the Ravenclaw table was situated next to the Slytherin table, and saw Daphne sitting there, with her jaw hanging slightly open. He made his way over to the table, and sat in a seat closest as he could manage to Daphne.

"Good evening, Daphne. Surprise, surprise eh?"

The blond just closed her mouth, turned back to her housemates, and started chatting to a girl with black hair and icy blue eyes.

Harry blinked at the sudden rebuttal, and shrugged, facing his new friends-to-be in Hogwarts.

A boy with light brown hair and pale complexion was sitting to his left, and shook his hand with gusto.

"Hello, the name's Kevin Entwhistle. I guess I'll be one of your dorm-mates from now on. That guy over there who's just fidgeting to start eating, that's Terry Boot. Another one who's in our dorm."

Harry gave yet another formal nod, and thanked him. He scanned the whole length of the table. The whole experience seemed oddly different from what he was used to, but it would have to do. He would miss his friends from the Academy at Tokyo, and Daphne was no Misato, but friends were friends, and he would enjoy these new friendships for the night. For once, he indulged in the feeling of relaxation, and laughed amongst his fellow students, pulling down his public mask

0o0o0o0o0o0

_Author's Notes:_

_I thought writing his whole childhood would take a bit too long and probably annoy some of the readers here at It was also eerily reminiscent of some stories already posted at various fanfiction sites. And I really don't like the 'shopping-list' notation some people seem to enjoy using, so I decided to jump right on in to the school year, and have Harry have flashbacks of his time in Japan, amongst other places. Well, I think it worked rather well, considering the fact that this was a rather hastily pasted together idea. You'll see more of Misato in the future, and some of his friends from Tokyo. And yes, before all of you swamp me in reviews, (you guys know you want to) this is going to be a Harry/Daphne, although very lightly. Don't ask an inexperienced 14-year old to try to write fluffy stuff that he has absolutely close to zero knowledge about. So pish-posh to all of you fluff fans. You'll see some of his (Harry's) abilities revealed in the next chapters, and some character development is in order. Also, we'll see some more stuff in Daddy Crouch's point of view, and a look into Harry's life before, during, and after Academy life at Tokyo. Harry won't remember much outside of Japan anyway, so any flashbacks you're gonna get from him aren't going to explain much, at least relevant to the other locations he has lived in._

_So, to get you stagnant readers who probably won't drop a message by, (no offense to anybody), feel free to flame me. That's right. First flame I get gets printed on high-quality paper and a frame hanging on the wall of my room. Preferably signed. Make that the first non-anonymous flame._

_I might have neglected to mention this last chapter, but the original concept sprung out of a thread at Darklordpotter .net, suggested by ip82, who goes by IP82 on this site. _

_Drop a message, and hope to see you again next chapter. _

_Regards,_

_Lutris_


	5. The Proud and the Beautiful

**Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent**

**By Lutris Argutiae**

**Chapter 5: The Proud and the Beautiful**

_September 2, 1994_

Harry was up at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall already by the time the other students had just woken up. He sat amused, sipping his morning tea, and thinking of the reactions of the other pupils when they found that their newest celebrity student had gone missing. He gave a small chuckle, and set his Earl Grey down on the oak table.

He had been there since seven o'clock sharp; right when the Hall was opened to the students and staff for breakfast, although nobody had come in until close to seven-thirty. Of course, being first in the Hall, the house elves had pretty much bowed down to his every whim, and he indulged in their services of offering him more tea and biscuits.

_Maybe being in the old coot's home wasn't as bad as he thought it could be._

It was now seven forty-three, and Harry was munching on a piece of buttered toast, prying his eyes over a timeworn copy of the standard Ancient Runes textbook. He hadn't had the opportunity to learn much of the subject while overseas, and had taken an immense interest in the course as soon as he heard of it, although that wasn't to say that what he had learnt away in foreign nations wasn't _useful _in another sense.

His father was a man of his word, and he had told Harry that it was his solemn vow that he would have him ready for a battle with the Dark Lord in time to meet his destiny, as dictated by prophecy approximately a decade and a half ago.

Oh yes, his father had gone above and beyond the expectations the convicted Black may have had. His body (Harry's) was a veritable killing machine, if he was to be attacked in the open. Nobody knew of his skills, aside from his father and the numerous tutors that had instructed him in their usage. After all, what good could come of leakage of information? He was to be prepared, and to be prepared meant the continued honing and concealment of abilities.

Others had been… _disposed_ of, to say the least, when they chanced upon discovery of his strengths. Many of them, as a great number of people were likely to, and had found out about the secret training, whether through weaseling about, second-hand sources, or eyewitness accounts. The earlier ones he could not remember; his father had been discrete when silenced. Obliviation was a choice method, but there had been cases where the offending party had been _permanently_ quieted.

But, as with any case of top-secret information, some of the more indefinitely silenced persons had been quite close to Harry as a friend or otherwise; _the girl_, as he now chose to refer to her as, had been one of them. No disrespect or any other offense was intended in the alternate naming, but to him, the name of the girl herself was still too painful to mention. He had slipped up on the train; he would need to find a way to keep his mouth shut during his sleep. He could not afford to blab out any secrets.

Sighing, Harry finished his toast, and picked up the teacup once more. He sipped the tea quietly, and sat there, decidedly changing the topic of his wandering thoughts. After pondering for a few seconds, the thought of what on earth he was going to do with his meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore later this morning came to him, which in turn reminding him to start practicing on the Mind Arts as soon as humanly possible. His father would not take it lightly if he was to be discovered, lest of all by Dumbledore, and even before the first classes had taken place.

He stood up and saw that a few other students had started to file in for their breakfasts, and decided it would be the opportune time to go and visit the elderly Professor.

Harry checked his thigh for his knife, in case he ever needed it. After all, being armed was strangely reassuring.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Enter."

Albus Dumbledore's voice rang from behind the oaken doors adorning his office. Harry had come through the gargoyle guardian, and hadn't even announced his presence to the old headmaster, but it appeared that the rumors were in fact true; that the elderly bowling champion could somehow sense individuals, even through twenty feet of solid granite. _No direct eye contact_, he reminded himself.

Focusing his thoughts and organizing them before stepping in, Harry wondered what the office would be like. Quite eccentric, his father had said. Stifling a snort, as to protect his public image, he knocked twice (manners were manners), and pushed the doors open.

_Here goes nothing._

The office wasn't nearly as crazy and strange as he had imagined earlier; indeed, it was… a bit off, but in a way that the decor seemed befitting of the wizard it surrounded. The Headmaster was seated in his chair amidst his various trinkets at the far end of the room, behind a huge wooden desk littered with papers, and peering over his half-moon glasses at the youth.

"Well Harry, come and have a seat, will you?"

"Yes sir." Harry tersely replied, and walked briskly across the length of the room towards the offered seat, which he noticed was a bright red plush chair. He decided not to comment on the use of his first name instead of the customary 'Mr. Potter'. The Headmaster leaned over the desk, and looked into his eyes. Harry quickly switched his point of vision to a spot on the man's forehead.

"So, Harry, how was your first night at Hogwarts? Enjoyable, I hope?"

"Yes sir. The dormitories are very nice."

At hearing this, the grandfatherly man looked noticeably pleased, and said, "Good, good. Now, to the matter of your classes, I suppose? As I understand, your father enrolled you here at the last minute, and therefore we do not have your preferred classes on record. Here is a list of possible courses, and it would be appreciated if you would specify a few to take this year." With this, he took sheaf of parchment from a pile on his haphazardly (he happened to prefer the term_ uniquely_) organized desk, and handed it towards Harry, along with a Perma-Ink quill.

Harry took the quill and paper, and glanced through the offered courses.

There were the internationally required classes: Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions; and the additional basic Hogwarts curriculum: Herbology, Astronomy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, and Care of Magical Creatures (this wasn't to say that other schools world-wide did not offer these courses). Then there were the advanced courses, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Divination, and Muggle Studies.

The first courses were mandatory; Herbology would eventually be needed, in the rare event that he would be left out in the open, with only his wits for survival. Indeed, experience from the rigorous training regime he was put through during his travels dictated the necessity of knowing which plants were usable. History of Magic was already crammed in his formidable mind; his father had made sure of that. Care of Magical Creatures would be an interesting course to take… but at Fourth Year level, he doubted that the students would learn anything not covered in Newt Scamander's various bestiaries. Divination, the time-filler, was utter drivel, and he had lived amongst muggles long enough to not need to take Muggle Studies.

Ancient Runes for him was a must, and so was Arithmancy. That brought the course count to six classes, and he would need Defense, even if he was leagues ahead of the rest of the school in that aspect. You never knew; something he might have missed might pop up during the class, and he was sure that the famed Mad-Eye Moody could teach him loads more than any text. After all, if an Auror who had the current record for the most Dark Wizards arrested couldn't teach him anything, who could?

Harry quickly filled out his form, checking off his seven selections. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he cast a derivative of the drying charm on the parchment, and handed the paper and quill back to the Headmaster.

"Ah, well chosen, Harry. I shall transmit this to your new Professors immediately. Now, off you trot. You're sure you wont be needing a lemon drop?" He said, passing along a glass dish across the table, and once again attempting an intrusion into Harry's mind.

Harry responded, glancing at the proffered dish filled with the yellow candy to avoid the Headmaster's gaze. "No thank you, sir. I shall take my leave. Thank you."

With that, and a small bow, he turned around, and stalked out of the Headmaster's Office.

0o0o0o0o0o0

And so, it was a short half an hour afterwards that classes began (at eight thirty, if one were to pursue the matter with precision). Of course, with youth such as Harry, a parent's philosophies were transferred to precision. _The schedule must always be followed down to the last second._

Harry's first class at Hogwarts took place in the famed Professor McGonnagle's Transfiguration room with the boisterous Gryffindors; the strict atmosphere of the class suited him perfectly, though the lions were not as comfortable for him. The stern woman alerted the class with a ringing sound from her wand, signifying the beginning of the lesson.

"Good morning, students. As you are all aware from previous years of your education, I am Professor McGonnagle. You are to refer to me at all times as either Professor, or Professor McGonnagle. Now, as is customary, we shall review what we have learnt last year. Mr. Potter, I trust you are following in your studies?"

Harry immediately looked up, and said, "Yes Professor. My father has had me instructed either by himself or any of numerous tutors provided in the various locations we had traveled in."

"I see." She responded, and with a stern look, continued to address the class. "At the end of last year, we covered object to animal transfigurations and all resulting entailments. Who can tell me the three fundamental rules in this type of transfiguration? Mr. Weasley, how about you?"

The redheaded boy, whom Harry looked at in disdain for his lack of composition in a public locale, yawned sleepily, before looking at his Head of House

"I don't know. Ask Entwhistle; he looks right ready to answer."

The professor glared at the boy, who, judging by his disheveled hair and…_ distinct_ scent, had not bothered to commit to his daily toiletries.

"Mr. Weasley, be as it may that you are in my House, I shall not tolerate that kind of behavior. Ten points for disrespecting a professor. And, Mr. Entwhistle, as Mr. Weasley has kindly pointed out your ability to answer, please give me the three fundamental laws or object to animal transfiguration."

Mr. Entwhistle, or Kevin, as Harry could remember from the Welcoming Feast, stood up, his relatively pale skin and thin composition standing out noticeably in his uneasiness.

"Erm… the three laws of object to animal transfiguration are that the base item and the result item must share similar densities, that the two items must share traits in appearance, and that the amount of magic depleted is dependant of the change in size of the items."

"Correct. Five points to Ravenclaw. Now, this year, we shall first examine the topic of animal to object transfigurations, as opposed to last year's subject. Later on, we will also be learning about cross-species switches. Take your wands out, and open to page thirteen of your textbooks," Here, she pointed her wand towards the corner of the room. "whilst I hand out these figurines."

With that, Professor McGonnagal levitated a wooden box filled with small woodcut figurines shaped as songbirds. She walked by each table, and handed a figurine out to each student, who after reading the designated text, set about on turning the wooden statues into real birds.

At first, most of the students had a hard time of trying to animate the birds, but after nearly a quarter of an hour of instruction, and shameless wand-waving worthy of an orchestral conductor, the first groups of pupils began shifting their figurines.

Harry pretended to join the rest of the class in their struggles. In truth, the greater part of his early training had consisted of adapting and changing situations to meet his needs, and then utilizing the new advantages provided. Being in several different countries over the first nine years of his Crouch history had helped to make him more adaptable to different environments, and so he was proficient into changing the nature of an object to fit his needs. Hence, transfiguration came easy to him, since he had been honing his skills since he was nigh four years old. Not that anybody knew that, of course.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"_Harry, this next training exercise will have you stranded in the middle of the desert. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes, Mr. Abdul." A nine-year old Harry Crouch-Potter answered in close-to-perfect Arabic. _

"_Good." The tall man with a bushy mustache and matching beard, identified as Abdul smiled at the boy, before giving him his further instructions. "Now, if you run in to any sort of trouble that you can't get out of, send red sparks from your wand. We'll be watching close by."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_You are to be left here," Abdul pointed to a place on a map marked with a red dot. "and you're going to try to get to here." This time a green dot. _

"_But what if I get thirsty?" Harry asked, his expression quickly filling with unease. _

"_That's why you are to use your wand to change things into food and drink, Harry." The Egyptian pointed out, demonstrating with his own palm wand. _

"_Oh." The young boy squeezed out. _

_Abdul continued, "Now, it's night time right now, and we should get you set up. We're taking a Portkey to the place, and we'll give you your sword there."_

_Soon after, they arrived to the designated location, and Abdul's men handed Harry a miniature, curved sword, fit for his size. They would not be seeing red sparks for three days, where they would find the child half-starved and barely hydrated enough to keep going._

_Mr. Bartemius Crouch made sure Harry had learnt his lesson from the incident before attempting a similar training method._

0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry came out of his reminiscing just in time to see the first alterations began to appear in the figurines, fifteen minutes later. A feminine voice rang out from the back of the classroom. "Professor, I did it!"

Professor McGonnagal walked down the aisle from her perch at the front of the classroom, and once at the place of the voice's origination, peered at the now fluttering and chirping songbird.

"Let me see, Ms. Granger… very good. Five points to Gryffindor for your wonderful work. Everybody, could I have your attention please?" A mass of roughly fifty heads shifted around in their seats. "Ms. Granger has managed a perfect rendition of the skills needed to manage in this year's curriculum. Use this as an example. Continue working on your transfigurations." With that, she turned around swiftly, and stalked back to her desk, transformed into her tabby cat Animagus form, and jumped on the wooden table.

Harry turned his attention to the Granger girl seated at the back of the room, apparently with out any form of a partner. She was very bushy haired, and her locks were a deep brown color. He noticed that she seemed unaccustomed to writing with her left hand; at a closer look, he saw from under her rolled up sleeve that her right arm had been severed at the elbow. Perhaps it was from an accident of some kind? It was unlikely to be one involving muggles; although he never remembered seeing the name Granger on the _Worlde's Greatest Families_ copy his father owned, he was sure that muggle medicine had not progressed far enough to be able to remove all of the scars that were sure to come from such an operation, should one have taken place. He would have to enquire around on that.

His thoughts were interrupted by a comment from a certain red-haired student sitting in the front row. "There goes the know-it-all again. Ooh, Professor, I did this, I did that. Aww, isn't that so sweet?"

At this, Professor McGonnagle seems enraged. "Mr. Weasley! A further ten points for verbal assault on a fellow student! And a detention with Mr. Filch as well."

The boy gave the stern woman a glare that could set tinder ablaze, and grumbled his understanding.

The rest of the class progressed as well as Harry could have hoped, and by the end of class, he managed to clock in at third to complete the transfiguration and continue the concealed state of his abilities.

His father needn't have worried.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The other subjects of the day, Charms, Herbology, and Care for Magical Creatures passed without much trouble, aside from a few glares from Daphne during Charms. Harry sighed as it was yet again proven to him that for all of his extensive training and intelligence, he still couldn't figure out the other sex at all.

Exhausted, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall for his dinner with the other students. He hadn't had much of a chance to converse with his dorm mates; He had been paired with a Slytherin dimwit named Gregory Goyle during Charms, and had had his hands full with the idiot, and Herbology took place with the Hufflepuffs, with which he was paired with Susan Bones, the Law Enforcement leader's niece. Care for Magical Creatures had seen him getting several burns along with several Hufflepuffs from Hagrid's monsters, of which the giant had (affectionately) named the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

All in all, his hands were covered in small nicks and shiny burns, he had had his face pissed on by a certain maturing Mandrake plant they were repotting, and he had tired himself out by forcing his aura and energies down to mask his signature the better part of the day. Healing charms he could manage; he could cure his fingers himself. Anything else was nothing a good wash (which he had already taken) and a long night's sleep couldn't fix.

Harry pulled his fir wand out of its holster-area in his trousers, which he had sewed on beforehand. He muttered a Burn-Erasing Charm, and as soon as the shiny skin aberrations had disappeared, cast a Skin-Knitting Charm for his cuts.

He felt much better now, and so walked joyfully down the halls, whistling a merry tune.

After passing several corridors, he came to the double doors of the Great Hall, and walked in. Heading towards the Ravenclaw Table at where he had sat last night at the Welcoming Feast, he snuck a quick glance at the Staff Table, and saw that the Headmaster was serenely smiling at him.

_These meals are the time to be at my most cautious. No eye contact, lest he discover our secrets._

Dumbledore announced the beginning of the meal with a clap of his hands, and food appeared on all the plates, much like last night, except on a much smaller scale.

Harry piled his favorite foods on his plate, and then addressed Terry Boot, who was sitting to his left. "Hey Terry, you know that Gryffindor kid with the red hair? The one in our Year? Do you know why he's just so… how do you put it, unsocial?" In truth, he knew exactly who the boy, and what his family background was. There even was talk of replacing the term 'bankruptcy' with 'Weasley-ness' amongst the more vindictive goblin accountants.

Terry quickly finished chewing his mouthful of chicken, and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "Weasley, right?"

Harry nodded his affirmation.

"Let's see, I think it was our second year, what with the whole Heir of Slytherin fiasco, wasn't it Kevin?" Terry motioned to the boy sitting on Harry's opposite side.

"Yeah," Kevin answered through a full mouth. "Some maniac had Slytherin's monster running around the castle, from what Professor Dumbledore announced."

"Anyway, turns out that Dumbledore was able to track down the Chamber of Secrets to kill the monster, but only because Weasley's younger sister, Ginny, I think it was, had been taken by the Heir. I heard that the Headmaster had a small platoon of some Ministry Special Forces come with him to hunt the monster down." Terry continued.

Harry made the connection. "Let me guess; they arrived too late, but slew the monster, apprehended the culprit, and retrieved the body, right?"

"That'd be about it, yeah." Kevin said.

"Small wonder the bloke's all… uncooperative. What about Granger? From what I could tell, that arm didn't come from natural causes."

This time, a voice behind him replied. "That happened in our First Year."

Harry looked to the source of the voice, and was surprised to see Daphne facing him.

She continued in a morose tone unlike her previous attitude. "She and I are friends; she didn't have any friends at first; since she's so intelligent, none of the Gryffindors could stand her, and her heritage sure didn't help a bit. It was Halloween, and she was crying in the girls' bathroom on the second floor because some kids had teased her. She didn't know that a Troll had somehow snuck in the castle. The Professors managed to subdue it before it did too much damage, but her arm got mangled by the troll's club. "

Harry blinked. He suspected as much. Security was tight at Hogwarts, so there was definitely no way that a dumb creature such as a troll would be able to find its way in to the school without inside aid, or else a powerful wizard on their side. Apparently, someone had been keen on removing the item that Dumbledore had hidden in his castle three years ago. He stored the question to memory to ask the headmaster at a later time.

He came out of his ponderings, and the four could only finish their meals in sullen silence.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The following days were much the same as every ones before them. Indeed, the classes he attended changed every day, but the same patterns remained: wake up early, shower, read for a while, go down to breakfast, attend morning classes, eat lunch, attend afternoon classes, eat dinner, do homework, and sleep. His previous life before coming to Hogwarts had been much more productive. Everything that was taught at this institution was fed to the students at a relatively slow pace, as though the teachers did not believe that they could consume information at an accelerated speed. His instructors seemed to think that the fact that he had missed three years of learning at 'the best school for magic' in the world was inherently relevant to his actual ability, when he was in reality leaps and bounds ahead of most of his classmates, save perhaps Granger and some other Ravenclaws.

It sickened him.

So he delved further into his private studies; the only courses he intended to follow in earnest were Defense Against the Dark Arts and Ancient Runes. The others, he would sit back and pursue other venues while taking notes with a modified Quick-Quotes Quill.

Ancient Runes was a unique subject in that he was honestly eager to learn it; it had many similarities to other techniques and applications of magic he had seen in the East, but was so radically different that most experts on runic magic of different branches could not understand even the most basic characters. In the Fourth Year curriculum, the subject was still fairly simple, and while he could accomplish other courses with ease, his complete lack of knowledge and experience in the topic held him in rapt attention of the words of Professor Tully. Although, that didn't mean in the slightest that he wasn't courteous and formal in other classrooms.

A plus he had noticed was that Daphne was in the class, as well as Granger. These minds, he could work with. It had surprised him at first, when he had learnt of their friendship. After all, what self-respecting (the name Weasley came to mind) idealistic Pureblood would associate themselves with a lowly muggleborn? But when it came to terms of _analytical_ intelligence, Granger was in a league further than his own. If he hadn't already assimilated most of the material contained in the textbook over the summer, he was sure that the Gryffindor would outclass him in sheer mental prowess. All that was left in the divide was the comprehension skills they possessed, and explanations from Professor Tully they both depended on.

The Greengrass heiress was of a similar caliber to his own. Rather than being more intelligent than him, she was at an equal level, although her easy-going nature was sometimes a liability. They had become fast friends during the Hogwarts Express ride, and the work they accomplished only brought them closer. Of course, Granger was often included, as she was of a longer acquaintance with the blond. Soon, she too became labeled as a friend in Harry's mind.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was another entirely, however. Moody was strict; even more so than McGonnagle, but his knowledge and expertise in combating the Dark and its servants was priceless to Harry. Ravenclaws were often slotted to share the class with the Hufflepuffs, and so he couldn't get as much out of the practical applications of the class as he could have with the Gryffindors, or even the Slytherins, if one could stand the pure arrogance of the Malfoy scion.

But teaching to defend oneself from the Dark Arts and teaching the use of the Dark Arts were two very different things; Harry almost had a heart attack when Moody announced that he would be casting the Unforgivables on them. If Harry had had his way, the retired veteran Auror would have been out of the classroom and in a cell in Azkaban quicker than one could say Quidditch, but it appeared that old 'Mad-Eye' was cleared to do so. But Harry quickly learned that such teaching methods were indeed effective. He was able to resist the Imperius Curse after only the first lesson, and had only gotten more and more efficient at blocking the effects out. It appeared that he was right about there being lots to learn from the war-expert.

That didn't mean he had to agree with the paranoia-infested man's teaching methods though.

But the things that took up most of his time were not related to class work at all. After all, his private studies (which he continued to cram into his mind throughout the more… uneducational lessons), were directly tied in with his combat skills.

As per his father's request, and his understanding of the necessity of being prepared for the worst, Harry continued to absorb and devour any new information that he could use that came his way. He often perused the generally barely allowed bookshelves in the Library; minor Dark Arts books often showed up in them, as nothing from the titles could somehow testify to the tomes' contents. But it was there, and Harry had the aid of a resourceful mind and tactical spellcasting on his side, and these books usually came to him after only after minutes of searching.

Of course, there were also some 'safe' curses that he searched for that could be used in combat and survival situations. Even on his first visit to the Hogwarts Library, Harry found a book on construction enchantments that revealed a powerful explosion curse for clearing out large spaces. The effect one such curse could have on the human body would be interesting, to say the least.

Seeing as there wasn't much time in betwixt classes and curfew that he could spend training up his knowledge, the only other option was to review his information during class time; indeed, his method had been formulated in the fist five minutes of his initial analysis of the classes at Hogwarts. He would find the books during his allotted 'homework' time, copy the whole text out into a blank diary spelled to have never-ending pages, and read off of it during class, while the Quick-Quotes Quill took his notes for him.

Eventually, this fell in to routine, and he quickly adapted to life in the castle, or his very skewed version of it.

Thus began his first months of his Hogwarts education, where he would continue stealing morsels of information and tactics from every opportunity that presented itself, be it teacher, book, or general student behavior…

0o0o0o0o0o0

_October 30, 1994_

Harry awoke to the sound of birds twittering outside his window. Strange; he never slept in this late… it was already past seven thirty. Hurriedly, he flung his dark navy blue covers off of himself, and sat upright on the side of the bed, thinking. He'd have thought he would already be used to this kind of school schedule after a few weeks, but apparently he just wasn't accustomed to waking up at seven and eating breakfast at eight in the morning. It was a little too late for his liking.

Harry pulled his fir wand from its resting place on his dresser, and pointed it at his slippers, which had somehow wound up on the other side of the room during the night. He cast upon it a pointed glare, then with a quick jab of his wand, and a clearly enunciated _Accio_ brought the offending footwear zooming towards his feet at the edge of the bed.

Much better.

He slid off the bed, and into his slippers, as he pulled off his shirt and reached into his trunk to grab a clean dress-shirt and black uniform trousers. He then walked towards the showers situated at the east end of the boy's dormitories, where he would go through his daily washing. He padded along the blue-velvet carpeted floors with a slight scuffle, and yawned sleepily. All right, maybe he wasn't as unused to this schedule as he'd claimed to be.

Eventually, he reached the showers, and reached for the knob on the wall. He grasped it, and pushed it into the stone wall; a small click could be heard. The wall disappeared, and he walked into the changing rooms. He set his clothing on an empty shelf, and stripped down. Walking into his stall, he waved his wand at the shower head, and grinned as the hot water erupted from the nozzle.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Feeling refreshed, Harry padded along back out of the shower rooms toweling his sopping wet mess of raven black hair. He checked the date on his bed-side calendar, and sighed. Today was the thirtieth of October, and also the day that the delegations from the Ministry, the French school of Beauxbatons, and the Serbian school of Durmstrang were arriving at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament announced at the beginning of the school year. It was sure to involve his father; three internationally acclaimed schools of magic, and a potentially lethal tourney had to be infringing on some minor laws that nobody would know about. Except his father, that is.

Thankful that it was a weekend, Harry pulled his brother's book out of the hidden section in his trunk. He had remembered its presence two weeks into the term; on the train, all he could find were simple curses that most seventh-years knew, and had dismissed the journal on that account. Oh, how wrong he was. The small, black leather-bound book was seemingly endless and filled with notes on anything his brother had ever studied. Harry snorted. Of course it was recommended; it was a veritable treasure trove of information concealed within the covers of a muggle novel. Of course, not all of the contents were Light oriented, but Harry still read through it all, determined to find some new way to utilize a technique or spell to his advantage.

He took the book, and headed back to his bed, where he was sure to not be disturbed whilst reading. A quick swish of his wand later, his curtains were shut, and he had applied a minor security ward to the bed's covers.

And then, he read.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Apparently, the Beauxbatons' carriage had been sighted not fifteen miles from the castle, judging from the racket Kevin, Terry, and another boy named Anthony Goldstein were making.

"Harry! Come on mate, you'll miss the arrivals!" The three cheered on outside his hangings. Grumbling, Harry slid out of bed, and after returning the book to its shelf in the trunk, joined the others in walking down the stairs to the Entrance Hall, if his dorm mates' actions could be classified as simply walking.

Ten minutes saw Harry and his companions at the Entrance Hall, jostling through the crowd gathered at the doors. For some reason, his dorm mates seemed keen on standing at the front of the crowd, and were pulling him by his wrists and using his celebrity status as an excuse to 'see the event from the best seat' as Anthony had put it. Eventually, they reached the front, right by the heavy wooden double doors of the Entrance Hall.

Terry nudged him in the shoulder. "How do you reckon they're coing, Harry? Portkey?"

"Nah, international Portkeys can't transport that many people from the same location to another at once… I'm betting on unique forms of transportation."

Daphne, who had joined in their group sometime during the savage shoves forward, continued. "Like what, Harry? Dragons dragging carriages through the sky, or maybe even one of those Star Trek things they use in the muggle movies eh? What'll they think of next?"

Harry gave a pointed glare towards the trigger-happy blond, although there was a hint of a grin on his face. "You. Shut up. I was thinking of something more… patriotic, is the word."

Daphne made a show of conjuring a conductor's baton and turning to the rest of their group and singing a very out-of-tune-but-somehow-recognizable arrangement of 'Rule Britannia'.

The raven-haired boy grumbled. He looked at the shorter girl, and asked, "By the way, Daphne," She ceased her avid music making and turned around to salute him. "Stop that, and I meant to ask, where's Granger?"

"Something about her arm acting up. Hermione's in the Hospital Wing again."

"All right." Harry acknowledged. "Hey Kevin."

"What?" The brown-haired youth responded.

"When were the delegates coming again?"

"Professor Dumbledore said that they would be here sometime 'round six, I think."

Harry thanked him, and cast a Tempus charm to check the time.

_Five fifty-seven._

Three minutes left then, he thought to himself.

Should've brought a book.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

Dumbledore called out to the crowd. Students clamored around to locate the transport, and started to shout.

"It's a dragon!" A first year shrieked out, while a Gryffindor Harry recognized as one of the pesky, camera-obsessed Creevey brothers shouted over the previous youngster, "Don't be stupid… it's a flying house!"

Harry saw that the 'flying house' was in fact, a flying carriage lead by a pack of what amounted to about a dozen winged horses. The carriage landed after a few rounds around the airspace in front of the castle, causing deep ridges to appear in the normally meticulously trimmed grass.

A boy in pale blue robes hopped out, and laid out a stool in front of the carriage door. Harry recognized the huge figure that stepped out of it.

Madame Olympe Maxime.

Dumbledore welcomed her with a kiss on the hand, and started, "My dear Madame Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts."

She responded in a deep voice one could easily mistake for a male one, if not for the slight musical quality of it that only a female voice could have. "Dumbly-dorr, I'ope I find you well?"

The tall and wizened wizard continued on, "In excellent form, I thank you."

"My pupils." Maxime waved her hand at the carriage, and a further dozen students, all in the pale blue of Beauxbatons, stepped out of it, and moved behind their Headmistress.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?' The probable half-giant enquired.

"He should be here any moment. Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and warm u pa trifle?" Dumbledore offered.

"Warm up, I think. But ze 'horses---"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them. When he returns from dealing with a situation with his, ah, charges."

"My steeds require--- er--- forceful 'andling." Maxime continued. "Zey are very strong…"

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job." Dumbledore smiled once again.

After informing the Headmaster that the horses only drank single-malt whiskey, (Harry lightly smacked Daphne upside the head for muttering, 'damn French. Even their horses are…' That was as far as she got, however) she gathered her students and crowded into the Entrance Hall.

Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins' partner in crime, shouted with a finger jabbed towards the lake. "The lake! Look at the lake!"

Harry could se that the surface of the water was being broken, and as a few seconds passed, a black mast and crow's nest poked out of the lake. A skeletal-looking ship all decked in black rose out of the lake, with water streaming down its sides in rivulets. An anchor was thrown overboard, and people disembarked from the seafaring vehicle.

Former Death Eater Igor Karkaroff led the couple dozen students towards the castle, all wearing dark red robes and shaggy fur cloaks.

Karkaroff called out to Dumbledore with merry tone. "Dumbledore! How are you, me dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff." Dumbledore replied passively.

"Dear old Hogwarts," Karkaroff said, seemingly to himself, and led a hook-nosed,

well-muscled figure into the castle, with the rest of his pupils following. "Viktor, come along into the warmth. You don't mind, do you Dumbledore? Viktor here has a slight head cold…"

"Oh no, I don't mind. Please join Madame Maxime in the Great Hall please, Igor."

Karkaroff didn't reply, but continued to walk into the Hall.

With that, the Hogwarts professors started to file in as well, and the students also proceeded to enter the castle.

Harry sighed, and followed the others. The board was set up, and the players were matched.

The Triwizard Tournament, had begun.

0o0o0o0o0o0

_Author Notes:_

_Sorry for the long break, folks. What with High School Applications and many long essays due this past month or so, I didn't have any time to work on Crouching Lion, or any of my beta-ing for vashtheunholy's Lust of a Dark Soul. I hope that my faithful readers (this would be a good time to click that button down there to the left, faithful readers) wont be too confused by all the mentioning of training I'm doing. Rest assured that I will explain that, and it's part in the story will come. _

_Next chapter, the Goblet of Fire chooses it's three, no wait, _four_ champions, and we see the return of the Barty Sr._

_Character development ensues._

_Tata, toodles, tweet!_

_Adieu,_

_Lutris_


	6. The Fourth Champion

**Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent**

**Author: Lutris Argutiae**

**Beta: myharlequinromance598**

**Chapter Six: The Fourth Champion**

Austria, The Black Forests

Early 1982

_The power of Dark Magic was strong, and while seductive, extremely useful in the right situations. I was morally compelled against this aspect of Harry's destiny; however, it was necessary in order to incorporate all aspects of training I had planned for him into a ten year schedule. I recognized the magic as necessary, and nodded my approval to start the ritual. _

_The vampiric coven of the Silver Strain was one of the most notorious groups of blood drinkers to have lived in the past six hundred years. However, this also meant that this was one of the most powerful bloodlines of the vampires in recent times. _

_Silver Strain vampires, although inherently Dark Creatures, were unique in that they had never taken a side in most magical wars between Light and Dark. They were always on their own side, never allying themselves to any one side or person. In the last war against the Dark Lord Voldemort, they had been recruited by said Dark Lord- but declined the offer, instead preferring to continue their relatively peaceful lifestyle. _

_The Dark Lord took this as an insult to his name, and the Black Forests knew no darkness and only sunlight for the whole of twenty days and nights, effectively killing all of the younger vampires, and many of greater age and experience. Satisfied, the Dark Lord turned his attention to other vampire covens more willing to fight against Light wizards._

_The Coven of the Silver Strain was still in shambles by the time the Dark Lord was brought down by my adopted son- and it still is. The vampires older than five hundred years can be counted with one hand, while those still younger are certainly not numerous. _

_Therefore it was logical to assume that they would harbor ill will towards the Dark Lord, and the possibility of aid from the Silver Strain, however small, became possible._

_Vampires were Dark Creatures- so naturally more in tune in magic than most other magical organisms, but Silver Strain vampires were again, unique. They were so in tune with magic that they could 'sense' powerful magic, and tremors in magic to predict disastrous events._

_Which meant that they knew Voldemort was alive. Albeit not at his strongest- but still alive. _

_I was able to convince them of the truth in the Prophecy- mainly by subjecting myself to truth serums and mind scans, but I did it nonetheless. Anything for the future. _

_They understood the importance of what I needed to put Harry through- and the reason I came to them in the first place. The blood of a vampire was a powerful tool in ancient strengthening rituals. These rituals were generally Dark in nature- but relatively unknown. Thus, they were, for the most part, unmentioned by the law; however, the use of vampire blood in potions or rituals were strictly outlawed in the early 1600's. _

_The Patriarch Marian suggested using the Lamian Illumination Ritual- _Laminus Illuminatus_, since it transferred the most dominant vampire breed traits from the vampire host to the ritual's intended receiver. In this case, Harry would experience accelerated mental, physical, and magical maturation, and a closer affinity with raw magic than before- and also several minor vampiric tendencies, although those would fade with time. _

_The ritual did not require an exact measure of blood; instead, the measure of vampiric blood to be used in the ritual potion was supposed to be scaled to the amount of power and attributes transferred to the receiver. Harry would still have to blend in with his fellows when the time came, as not to arouse suspicion, so the amount of blood used in the ritual would be significantly less than the suggested amount._

_Slowly, I picked Harry up, and set him in the pentagram. Marian and his remaining elite stood at the five corners of the circle, and then, darkness overtook me, and I knew no more._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Weasley twins, as always, were a pair of complete idiots; intelligent and devious idiots, but still idiots nonetheless. It was hard to believe that they were sorted into Gryffindor, Harry mused, what with all of their tricks and tomfoolery, they should have been in Slytherin. Although, they ought to have known that an Age Line was infallible. Strictly speaking, as sixth years, the red-haired brothers were expected to know about basic wards development- it _was_ a NEWT class requirement- and said enchantment was a perfect example of the concept.

But, being the fools that they were, Fred and George (or Gred and Forge, as they now preferred to be called) had gone and decided that a simple Aging Potion would be enough to fool the Age Line drawn around the Goblet of Fire. It was inordinately stupid, even for the twins, on top of its properties, the line was drawn by Dumbledore. Dumbledore, although meddlesome and potentially senile, was no pushover when it came to magic and enchantments.

They two boys ended up with long, flowing white beards, and the apparent age to match. In the middle of the Entrance Hall in front of no less than fifty individuals, including some of the foreign students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

The Goblet of Fire had been in the Entrance Hall for about twenty-three hours now, sitting there waiting for any and all potential challengers to the Triwizard Tournament to put their names forth. Dumbledore, to ensure that the younger students would not be able to enter, had put up an Age Line restricting the entry age to seventeen, the age of lawful maturity.

Several other people from all Hogwarts Houses had entered: Angelina Johnson, from Gryffindor, Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff, and a sloth-faced Slytherin named Warrington, who was also on the Quidditch Team, to name a few. All of the Durmstrang (and Beauxbatons) students had entered their names into the Goblet of Fire, which now rested in the Entrance Hall, enclosed in its Age Line.

Harry, along with Daphne, Kevin, and Terry (Granger had opted to stay in the _Library_, of all places instead of watching the Choosing; it was hardly a surprise, with her being what she was like), was sitting in the Great Hall, waiting for the evening meal to start. Daphne was sitting at the Slytherin Table, but as usual, had slipped down to where the three Ravenclaws were seated, engaged with Terry in a heated argument about whether woodpeckers that pecked oak were better than woodpeckers that pecked rowan. Harry sat amused alongside Kevin, who was also grinning his face off at the pointless debate.

"… No, obviously, the oak-pecking woodpecker is infinitely better, because my wand is made of oak, and since I'm the most important person in the world…," Terry ranted, only to be cut off by the blonde girl.

"NO! The rowan pecker is better than your filthy oak-pecking specimen, you insufferable male idiot! Oh wait, I shouldn't have said that! Male and idiot in the same sentence! Redundant synonyms! Oh good heavens!" The dramatic tone taken in the dialogue was astounding, but not surprising, considering who was saying it.

"I defy thee, stars!" The blonde girl continued in melodrama. "I am fortune's fool!"

Entertained, Harry realized something at this moment; all of the training he had completed in secret, all of the individuals he and his father had silenced; none of that could compare to what he was experiencing, here at Hogwarts: genuine friendship. It was rare that Harry would find a true friend in his travels; accomplices were found even in the most unlikely of places, and indeed, there were a surprising amount of able conversationalists in the world as well, but friends that he could trust, people that he would be able to eventually confide in were rare, and that was what he had found here. Despite Dumbledore's ominous presence and the high tension he experienced in the active concealment of his father's plans, Harry thought that it was worth it to be here.

Harry fell back to his thoughts while the others were preoccupied with their banter; the Triwizard Tournament would be a prime opportunity for a terrorist strike; Voldemort was sure to be out there, and he would be biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to bring himself back to power. _I know he's out there. And I know that this is too good an opportunity to pass up- there were too many people at the Quidditch World Cup; HE couldn't make an appearance himself, but with the main part of the crowds being students… excellent psychological tactics as well, if he succeeded in killing a few. Once the Champions are chosen, the security risks will be greater. I'll be damned if I let him harm any of the students here, _especially_ my friends and contacts._

But even Harry could not keep himself from getting excited about the upcoming Champion selection for the Tournament; he was only fourteen years old, after all. Of course, his excitement was heightened not only from the fact that it was the _Triwizard _Tournament, but also because his father would be present- it _had_ been a while since Harry last saw him, at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. His three friends were eager to meet with his father as well- although they didn't seem to care a single bit about it at the moment, seeing as how Kevin had put forth his opinion on the benefits of naming a rodent a woodchuck when it obviously didn't chuck wood.

Abruptly, the doors to the Great Hall opened, with a monstrous bang. The Durmstrang students, led by Karkaroff, marched into the chamber, along with a few Hogwarts students who straggled in behind them. A few moments later, the Beauxbatons contingent fluttered into the room as well, taking their seats at the Ravenclaw Table. Karkaroff headed up towards the Head Table, next to Dumbledore, and was closely followed by Madame Maxime, who sat on the other side of the old Headmaster.

After all the students were seated (which took quite a while, what with all of the extra students present), Professor McGonagall took her spoon and tapped it several times against a tall glass, producing a ringing sound that rang throughout the whole Great Hall. The students immediately quieted, and Dumbledore stood up.

"Students," Dumbledore began, "it is my pleasure to welcome you to the official opening feast for the Triwizard Tournament!" Thunderous applause and raucous whooping and screaming exploded from the students' tables. Dumbledore waited until the clapping had subsided, and continued. "…but before we start, I would like to introduce to you some of the many Ministry officials that made this most amazing competition possible! First, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation!" Polite applause could be heard, and the man neither stood or bowed; he just sat there with a sharp expression glued on his face, unmoving except for the occasional swivel of the head.

Harry grinned at his father, taking care to quickly blink his eyes back and forth. The stern official's left eyebrow twitched several times- three, if one were to count- at the offending act, and Harry gave a minute nod. It was a previously agreed method of communication; to others it would have looked like a strict father silently reprimanding his son, but to them, it was an effective form for the sending and receiving of orders.

_What should I do?_

_Left side corridor, third room to the left._

_Affirmative._

The clapping died down, and Dumbledore continued, "…and the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports: Mr. Ludo Bagman!"

There was a much louder response to this name than the previous one, presumably because Bagman had played as star Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps Professional Quidditch Club. A tall, round-bellied man with round, rather young blue eyes stood up, and cheerily waved to the crowd. He looked as if he had cut a formidable figure in his youth, but had slacked off in his later years, as his abdomen could attest to. Bagman bowed, and took a seat once more.

"Yes, yes, quite an exciting pair, I assure you. However, that is not all they are. These two, along with their employees in the Ministry of Magic, have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the…" here, Dumbledore paused. "_…champions'_ efforts."

At the mention of the word 'champions', the students of the hall straightened up, and their attentiveness seemed to focus and sharpen several times over. Terry leaned over to Harry's ear and whispered, "Funny how eager people get to have something new to gossip about, ain't it?" But Harry wasn't listening; something was wrong, he could feel that something wasn't the way it should have been, _something was not right_.

Dumbledore lowered his voice, and showed a slight smile.

"But for now, let us eat."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After everyone had eaten their fill of the second feast in two days, Dumbledore reached for his glass (filled with brandy), and took a deep drink from it to sate his thirst. Following his example, Karkaroff drank something straight from a bottle placed on the Head Table and gagged, as if it burned his throat on the way down. Some of the Hogwarts staff also took this break as a chance to drink something; Hagrid took a massive swig from his equally gigantic mug, Professor Sinistra had a small sip from her glass, and Moody drank something from his hip flask, casting a literal eye over the entire Hall.

The headmaster coughed lightly, and slightly dimmed the lights in the hall with a sweeping wave of his wand. "The Goblet of Fire is almost ready to make its decision. I estimate that it needs only, oh, about five minutes left till it starts calling the champions' names. When that happens, I ask that they come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber through the door behind Professor Snape, where they will await further instructions." He made a small pushing sort of motion with his wand, and a wooden door with a doorknob and hinges made of battered metal shimmered into view behind the greasy haired Head of Slytherin. Dumbledore waved his wand again, and a tall marble pedestal materialized, easily a full head taller than he was when he was seated. "Now, Mr. Filch, if you will?"

Filch walked in the doors, which had opened sometime after the lights had darkened, carrying the Goblet of Fire impossibly gingerly in front of him. He carefully set the wooden cup down on the pedestal, and backed away to the corner of the Hall, picking up his cat, the scruffy, yellow-eyed Mrs. Norris along the way.

The whole hall was now avidly staring at the sparkling, white-blue flames of the Goblet, which was now the only illumination in the entire room, excepting the candles inside the carved pumpkins floating some thirty feet above their heads. Silent whispering broke out among the students, and Daphne remarked to the rest of their group, "I hope the champion's a Gryffindor."

Kevin took a double take, and motioned as if he was picking his jaw off of the floor, and questioned, "Um… need I remind you that you are a Slytherin? And that Slytherins and Gryffindors have never mixed? And that you have been seen by no less than forty-seven sources, including myself, that you've hexed at least five different people on the event of a Gryffindor victory at Quidditch matches?"

Daphne swiveled her head around causing her hair to flip into her eyes before giving Kevin a disbelieving stare. Terry and Harry quickly followed.

"What? My argument is sound! It's absolutely logical! Why does that warrant staring?"

Terry shook his head in mock exasperation. "Kevin, Kevin, Kevin; you really don't see it, do you? She obviously wants a Gryffindor, as One, it gives her a valid reason to mock the champion, and Two, as Gryffindors are the ones who struggle the most amusingly. Are you sure you should've been Sorted into Ravenclaw…?"

The Entwhistle boy glared. "Why you little…"

But before he could say anything more, the Goblet of Fire's flames suddenly turned a burning, crimson red, and flashes and sparks flew from it. A hushed silence fell upon the Hall. The next instant, a tongue of flame shot a charred and burned piece of parchment out of the cup, and Dumbledore snatched it out of the air. He carefully unfolded it, and announced, "The Champion for Durmstrang will be… Viktor Krum." Loud cheering and applause came for the Quidditch star, and Krum rose, and slouched up to Dumbledore, shook his hand roughly, and headed into the back room.

Another flame leapt out of the Goblet, and shot forward, propelling another piece of parchment into the air. Dumbledore caught it, and read out the next name.

"The Champion for Beauxbatons: Amedie l'Eytinge!"

A slender, regal-looking girl with dirty blonde hair deftly rose, smoothed out her robes, and elegantly walked up to the headmaster, before shaking his hand and walking through the open doorway. Kevin smacked Terry upside the head for giving an appreciative whistle at her retreating back (quite possibly end).

The Goblet of Fire sprouted another length of fire, and it threw one last piece of parchment into the air. Dumbledore grabbed it again, and read the last champion's name.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called out, "is Robert Cleaves!"

The whole Gryffindor Table leapt up in delight, screaming and yelling, stamping around while Cleaves cockily rose, and flipped a sheen of hair over his eyes with a twist of his head. Harry thought that it looked frighteningly arrogant- too arrogant to actively compete in a life-or-death competition. But what happened was what happened, and one couldn't change it no matter what.

The perpetual clapping and chatting seemed to temporarily die down, and Harry was getting more and more anxious as his sense of foreboding grew ever more stronger. He reached down to grip the knife handle concealed on his thigh, and squeezed hard. He drew the blade out by about two inches. Something wasn't right. The magic around him was telling him so. The flames of the Goblet of Fire were supposed to turn an off-red colour, not crimson; and the sparks weren't supposed to fly as often as they had this time.

Harry's snapped his head to attention as something entirely impossible happened. Suddenly, the fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks flew out of it in rapid fire. With a sound not unlike a whip cracking, a piece of parchment was carried into the air by a long flame, and Dumbledore slowly reached out for it, as if he was afraid what it would contain- and Harry was too, he was afraid also, of what would be written in the parchment. This would be what would go wrong- Dumbledore would read out a name, and the name would be-----"

"_Harry Potter_."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

A deadly silence permeated the Great Hall of Hogwarts, which was unusual in itself, as it was usually bustling with activity, even during the middle of the night, because of the house elves.

The whole of the Hall was staring at Harry Crouch-Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He could feel the eyes, the hundreds of eyes boring into his skin, his very fiber, and straight through past his very bones. Ignoring them, Harry quickly suppressed the dread and uncertainty that shot through him. Emotions in tight or awkward situations were liable to get you and your allies damaged, or worse, put out of action. But he couldn't move- not yet; as much as how he had killed his dread, he had to act the part of a shocked teenager, which wasn't that hard, as that was what he essentially was anyway. He looked up at his father, who had a surprised look on his face, which was expected. His face had an emotion on it, which was rare in public nowadays: genuine worry. Harry pulled a pinched face to complete the act, and made the slightest of grins at him- it was necessary in this situation- and waited for a reply.

Finally, after about a full half minute, Bartemius Crouch Sr. furrowed his brows together. _We'll discuss this later._ The fourth year then turned his head to face his friends.

Terry and Kevin were just staring at him with wide eyes and slack-jawed expressions. It appeared that even Ravenclaws could be shocked, Harry thought morbidly. What with their intelligent nature, he expected them to think all situations through… but this one was surprising for himself as well, so he supposed it worked out. He slowly faced the other direction, to Daphne. She stared at him with a blank look also. With a massive sigh, he sheathed his knife as silently as he could. So, this was what friends did here as well- do or become something that conflicted with their expectations, and then they turn away from you. _Just like her. Like Mis… no, I won't think that._

Then to his surprise, Daphne said, "Go on Harry. They're waiting." Encouraged by her unexpected words, Harry looked away from them- this was evidently not the time to ponder on things of the past- and took a deep breath, and exhaled. He rubbed his eyes and then slowly stood up, pulled his leg over the long benches that served as seats, and took a small step forwards toward the headmaster. Each step seemed to him to last for impossibly long periods of time, and he could still _feel_ the eyes of his peers drilling holes into him.

Finally, he reached Dumbledore, who looked less than pleased; Harry knew this to be an act- what better excuse was there for him to bring himself closer to his prized champion?

"Well, go on now- I dare say that being late isn't an excuse in this Tournament. Go on."

Suddenly, Harry felt a Legilimensic probe touch the back of his mind, scanning through the his still basic Occlumens barrier. Quickly, Harry tore his eyes away from the headmaster's, and brought his hand up to shake Dumbledore's. The elderly professor simply waved his hand towards the door in the back in reply, apparently reluctant to shake his own. _So that's how it is? Pretend to have to act like you had to show me no leniency, and then get closer to me? We'll see about that. I've learned a lot over the last ten years. Be prepared for me, you mangy old manipulating coot._ Harry smiled politely, and stalked off towards the back room.

Once he entered, he noticed that the whole room was not, in fact, a room, but furnished and built more like a small hallway with a miniature alcove at the end. Harry took a step forwards, and looked ahead. The Cleaves boy was just a few meters ahead, leaning on the side wall next to a portrait of the wizard Dembar the Dirty.

"What are you here for, little Potter-boy, eh? Dumbledore want summat done for' im? Or…" with a facial expression somewhere between an arrogant smirk and a treacherous grin, he continued "are you just here for kicks? Then you should'a bin a Gryffindor, mate."

"I was selected as a champion, if you must know." Seeing Cleaves' expression, Harry pressed his luck. "Yes, unexpected, wasn't it, Bobby?" he said.

Gaping, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, Robert Cleaves froze, apparently at a loss for words. At least he proved to Harry he had at least a fraction of an operating mind and was not just a cocky brat, when he put a halt to the conversation with a vehemently retort. "Well best'o luck to Yasu mate."

His voice must have carried down into the alcove, since the Beauxbatons champion, l'Eytinge, emerged from within to the hallway. With a cultured voice, she queried, "What is all the commotion out here? I would have thought that the administration… ah, so they sent you instead. Harry Potter. Well met." She stuck her hand out, as if for a handshake. Harry thought that her English was close to perfect- it sounded regal, aristocratic, and without the typical French accent. His father had often told him that purebloods were often instructed in courtly manners- as Harry himself had been- and it seemed that French purebloods were no exception.

Not to be held as rude, Harry gave a small formal bow, and with his head down, muttered, "Well met, Miss l'Eytinge.", then stood up straight, and lightly shook her hand.

"At least you seem to have some culture. I was afraid all Englishmen were brash and rude." She curtly replied.

"Need I remind you that I was raised in the family of Crouch?" Harry countered.

"Ah yes. French intermingling four generations back, I believe?"

"Three."

Cleaves, not to be out done as his pride mandated, interjected, "I will have you know that I," he paused, "come from a line almost as old as the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black?" Behind his back, he flipped his middle finger at Harry in a most rude manner, as if being from an older line of blood actually merited some recognition.

L'Eytinge turned her aristocratic face towards the Gryffindor. "Ah. So you are. Cleaves, was it? Manners take precedence to blood, at the moment. Your bloodline matters not; shall we proceed?"

"Yes, mademoiselle." An apparently cowed Cleaves said. The sheer foolish and brash manner of the Gryffindor teen was displeasing to Harry, but he managed to tone his distaste down to the point where it was nigh unnoticeable to the others.

As the pair started forward, Harry fell back behind them, and also into his mind to organize his information and ideas. _The Triwizard Tournament, as I thought, is a major opportunity for Voldemort to strike- and he means to use me, somehow. It is inconceivable that the Goblet of Fire was confused into selecting four champions without outside intervention. Therefore it is logical to assume that a powerful variant of the Confundus Charm was cast upon it- and a fourth school name was entered. But then how to isolate a single champion as to ensure my entry? It wasn't a coincidence or pure chance that forced my name to come out; no, it was intended. That means it had to be the ONLY choice the Goblet had to choose from. Too convenient for the Dark Lord to pass up, even if he wasn't behind this, which was highly improbable. Then the question remains: who entered my name?_

L'Eytinge stopped a few paces ahead of him. "Well, aren't you going to escort us to the chamber? Dumbledore has you here as a guidesman, doesn't he?"

Harry merely looked up at her eyes, then gave an obviously fake smile. Cleaves answered instead, "No. Apparently, he's got himself selected there for the bloody fourth champion, haven't Yasu Potter?"

"Yes. I am not sure as to how it was possible though."

"Oh, come off it Potter, Mae bigheaded liar! We know that you got past the Age Line! How! How'd Mae fuckin' do it?" Cleaves yelled.

"As Mr. Potter has stated, he should not have been able to enter his name in to the Goblet of Fire. Now, please, proceed to the briefing room, and Mr. Cleaves, be glad that I am not allowed to expel you from the tournament. Please watch your mouth before I am tempted to change the rules."

Bartemius Crouch emerged from the shadows in the corridor, his graying hair and stiff back clearly visible. "Now, proceed to the chamber, Champions. Mr. Krum is waiting for you. Your professors will be coming shortly." He ushered l'Eytinge and Tumin into the small room, and turned to face Harry.

"Harry, our previous appointment must be cancelled, I am afraid. More pressing matters have arisen."

Harry nodded. "Yes Father. I understand." _The discussion will take place at a later time then._

"Good. Now go with your fellow Champions to await the Professors and," he added in distaste, "…_Bagman_."

Nodding once more, Harry walked briskly into the chamber, and took a second, closer look at the other Champions. He was aware of the rules: his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and as such, through an unbreakable magical contract, he would be forced to compete against Krum, l'Eytinge, and Cleaves.

Krum he already knew about; Viktor Krum was a world-class Quidditch player, and played Seeker for the Bulgarian Team at the Quidditch World Cup that summer. He was moderately tall, certainly not a giant in size, but now what you'd call average either. His eyes were a muddy sort of brown, and when his eyes were furrowed (as they usually were) they would give off the impression that you were staring into the eyes of a hawk. Krum looked like a hawk on ground as well- as his stance was somewhat slouched, and if observed closely enough, it would be noticed that he had sort of a small loping sort of walk, as if he wasn't meant to walk on the ground. A cruel person would have described him being a man with a critical case of 'brawn-over-brains' syndrome.

Harry turned his attention to Adelie l'Eytinge. She was by no means a pampered pureblood princess like several examples that could be found in Hogwarts (Pansy Parkinson came to mind), and unlike them, she looked and probably was capable enough to defend her title. No, princess wasn't a term to describe her, and so heiress was probably the most capable word to use. The l'Eytinge family was famous in France and mainland Europe for its ferocity in dealing with enemies, and the professional manner in which any and all business concerning them was dealt with. She would probably be the most efficient out of Harry's competitors- a cold and systematic approach and thorough way of dealing with the Challenges was expected from her.

Cleaves was the average Gryffindor, although skilled in Defense Against the Dark Arts and exceedingly popular among the higher years of the House. Fortunately, this was his last year at Hogwarts, and so if Harry were to be coming back for his fifth year here, he wouldn't have to deal with the arrogant fool. Although, arrogant he may have been, Cleaves certainly wasn't one to trifle with when he was irritated. The not-so-mysterious appearance of a trio of Slytherins in the Hospital Wing on the second week of school were testament to that fact.

Harry finished his observations, and he then committed them to memory. Glancing around the chamber, he noticed that all of the other Champions were present; Krum was off in the side of the room, and l'Eytinge, having conjured an elegant chair, was sitting down whilst calmly ignoring Cleaves' boasts of valor.

The sound of running footsteps suddenly echoed down the short hall, and Harry turned around sharply. As expected, Dumbledore, followed by Karkaroff and Maxime, led the small entourage, Bagman trailing behind with other Ministry flunkies. The Headmaster stopped at the entrance of the room, and then with a panting voice clearly showing that he was out of breath, questioned,

"Har…Mr. Potter- I can not stress the importance of you answering my questions honestly; _Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?_"

"No, sir. I didn't."

Maxime retorted, "But of course, 'e 'ees lying!"

"No, I'm not. I am willing to submit to a truth potion, if necessary."

Here, Bagman made himself known, shoving his way through the small crowd of officials and in front of Harry. "But the Goblet's selected him, my dear Madame Maxime- he's bound by a- what did you say it was, Barty, a… magically bouncing…no magically…magically…"

Bartemius interjected before Bagman made an even bigger fool out of himself. Beater's work obviously did not require much brain matter in the world of Quidditch. "A magically binding contract, my _dear _Ludovic Yes, it is now official, since Mr. Potter's name has come out of the Goblet of Fire; so it has been written in the rules of this competition. So it must be."

A small, awkward silence enveloped the room; nobody seemed to know what they wanted to say. Karkaroff finally, maliciously sneered, "Hah! This is… treachery, Dumbledore! Where in the rules does it say the host school can have _two_ Champions, I ask! Treachery! Mr. Crouch, I find it a strange coincidence that your son is the one you seem so keen on supporting; tell me the truth, or Viktor and I shall take no part in this, this... this mockery of a tournament!"

"Oui, Bartemius, I em finding zis a peculiar coincidence also! Ze boy is obviously lying! 'Ow else would 'e enter ze Tournament wiz'out outside 'elp?" interjected a close-to-angry Madame Maxime.

Harry noticed that his father momentarily tensed at the accusations, but wrote it off as nothing worth noting. "I swear on my life and magic that I, Bartemius Crouch, had nothing to do with Mr. Harry Crouch-Potter's selection as the fourth Triwizard Champion." A rush of magic accompanied this statement, and Bartemius looked at the other adults present, and then turned to the four Champions.

"Now, in a week's time, Markus Ollivander will arrive for the customary Weighing of the Wands ceremony- official Ministry personnel will accompany you to the ceremony at the proper time. Until then, prepare well, Champions, and we shall see who shall triumph in the end. This introduction to the Tournament is now concluded. I shall see you once again in a week's time."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Soon afterwards, the Champions all left with their respective school officials to their dorms, and Harry was strolling back towards Ravenclaw Tower. Upon passing the portrait of Bartleby the Grossly Unorganized, he tapped the stone wall five times in rapid succession, and Glamour on the wall disappeared, revealing a wooden door. Harry slowly opened it, as to not be seen, and went in.

Inside, his father was waiting for him, sitting in a blue armchair, writing in a notebook.

"Sit down, Harry. We need to discuss our plans, and I assume you would rather sit."

"Yes, Father." Harry replied.

"I was originally going to ask whether your Occulmency studies were coming along nicely, whether you were able to conceal your abilities well- if you found more strategically valuable spells, but I think that those are topics for a later time. Tell me Harry, did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, directly, or indirectly? Answer truthfully, my son."

"I didn't, Father. I suspect that the Dark Lord or another Dark agency is planning to 'use' me as an example to cow the rest of the students into following the Dark Lord- the Tasks are prime opportunities for terrorist strikes, and maximum damage can be expected in such an event."

"Very good. I will change my plans accordingly. Harry; I'm warning you, in these Tasks, _do not show your full potential_. Do not. I forbid it. I suspect that powerful obstacles shall be brought in front of you especially, considering your somewhat unorthodox selection, but never, NEVER reveal what training you have received, unless it is already standard knowledge."

"Yes, Father. I understand." Harry confirmed. This severely limited his options, but he always could improvise. Besides, the First Task wasn't for another month, so he wasn't worried yet. Harry leaned into his chair stretching like a cat, and yawned tremendously.

"Dad, I think I'm a bit tired… I need to be returning to Ravenclaw Tower soon- can I, ah, may I be excused?"

Bartemius got up, and reached over to Harry's messy hair- they had never managed to fix that- and ruffled it affectionately. "You may go. I love you, son."

Harry stood up and walked over to the door, with a small smile gracing his face; his father rarely opened up, but when he did, it was truly genuine.

"Love you too, Dad."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Author's Note: I'm really sorry for the massive delay. I really am. School happened for the first few months, then my total laziness and awesome procrastinatory skills came into play for the summer. Gah-gah. _

_On a lighter note, I now have a beta. Yeah. Really. She's a nice person, and her grammatical skills are splendid- everything to look for in a beta, actually. It came as a bit of a shock to me to learn that she was also reading HP fics; it had never come up in conversations before. One thing led to another, and so, here we have the next installment of Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent._

_Next: Chapter Seven_

_Barty Crouch Jr. finally comes into play, and the customary weighing of the wands takes place. But what's this for the First Task? Sweet Nyx, what are THOSE?_


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